


A World Reflected, Brightly

by Katastrophe94



Series: Cracked Glass [2]
Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Alternate Universes, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trauma Conga Line, but still angst sprinkled in, lighter and softer than previous works, shenanigans as befitting the hell's studio workplace
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2020-03-30 01:19:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 53,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19031809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katastrophe94/pseuds/Katastrophe94
Summary: Its been a rough few days, but things seem to finally be looking up for Bendy and the rest of the crew. Of course, there's a good number of hurdles they have to overcome now as everyone comes to terms with their new occupants, while said occupants get used to what it means being at Hell's Studios with all its peculiarities. As well as learning to cope with the lingering trauma they all have endured.But its safe now. They have all the time in the world.Don't they?





	1. A Story Has to Start Somewhere

**Author's Note:**

> Flip open the cover and turn the page
> 
> The scene fades in from black
> 
> Its time for another round, my dears

Voice of

HENRY STEIN

_Dreams. That’s one of Joey’s favorite words. Dreams for the future, for glory, for wonder . . . I dare say that dreams was how we both met._

_Joey had a vision, and I wanted to draw. Seemed only natural we’d partner up for it. And then, more people came on board, till we had our own little studio._

_The kind of people here right now . . . they’re all so different. But they all have dreams. Joey loves to point that out at every staff meeting._

_‘We’re all dreamers. And we’re all here for a reason.’_

_He definitely knows how to make a speech. His way with words was how we got the studio in the first place._

_But I can’t help but feel like . . . somewhere along the way, Joey’s forgotten that there_ are _other dreamers in this studio. And sometimes . . ._

_Sometimes, the things he says he dreams about . . . I don’t know . . ._

_Joey likes to say that anything is possible, but . . ._

_*Sigh* . . . I should get back to work._

*

*

*

It felt like a mere handfuls of minutes, but also a breathless eternity for Henry as he sat on the floor with a changed demon crying into his shirt, dazed in a way that left him feeling detached from the situation before him. At the same time, he knows it’s all too real, that this wasn’t just a dream and that this reborn creature he was comforting was proof that even the wildest, most unimaginable things were possible.

 _But what do we do now?_ He can’t help but think, _where do we go from here? What do I even tell the others?_

Such thoughts harried him, until he slowly became aware that the crying had petered out and the weight against his chest had gone limp and quiet. He glanced down, and blinked when he saw with some surprise that the toon had fallen asleep.

He leaned back just a little, the toon shifting as he did, head turning in slumber. It’s a sleep that looked restless, brow pinched and that once static smile still turned in that unfamiliar frown, with unmistakable tear tracks leaving bruised trails under eyes that once were buried beneath the ink of his own unfinished form. But that only served to make him appear . . . well, like he was meant to. Emotion like the Demon never had. And like this, he looked so . . .

. . . harmless.

Even when he used to be anything but.

Henry knew time had passed, more than what he’d promised Sammy he’d be gone for by now, and people would undoubtedly begin looking for him soon. And . . . he can’t exactly hide this, can he? It’d be foolish to do that, and the others needed to know of this change. But how they would react . . . honestly, Henry couldn’t even begin to guess.

But he imagined not all of them would be as . . . willing to understand, as Henry himself was. Even as willing to _try._

But what else can they do but go forward?

Taking a breath, Henry shifted the toon’s weight in his arms before standing upright, carefully maneuvering the . . . tail over the crook of his elbow so he didn’t run the risk of stepping on it. He’s not entirely sure why Bendy has one, since that was never something he had in any of his model sheets outside of old concepts. Perhaps a result of the magic, or the nature of the toon himself? Hm, who knew . . .

It was then Henry became aware of approaching footsteps, and he only had a scant few seconds to get his thoughts in order to explain this when he heard someone appear in the open doorway behind him.       

“Henry! There you are! Are you alright, w-where’s the Demon?”

Ah, it was Al. That . . . might be a bit better.

“I’m fine,” Henry replied, glancing at the sleeping toon in his arms, worrying at his bottom lip apprehensively, “And, uh, as for the Demon . . . w-well, uh . . .”

Not sure how to explain it, he eventually just bit the bullet and slowly turned around, revealing what he was hiding in full. The woman across from him had her eyebrow raised, looking puzzled, but when the other toon came into view, her mouth dropped and her eyes blew open wider than he has ever seen them do.

With a slow and somewhat shaky finger, she pointed at the toon and said, “T-that’s the . . . the . . .”

Henry nodded, “Yeah.”

She stared a little harder, before her eyes flicked up to him, “. . . this isn’t a joke?”

Henry was shaking his head before she even finished, “No.”

Silence settled on them, one Henry let sit as the toon across from him fought to come to terms with what she was seeing. He could see her disbelief, her wonder, her shock, but below all that, her wariness. Deeply ingrained, hard to shake, and Henry is not surprised when the next question out of her mouth is, “Are . . . are you _sure_ it’s not dangerous?”

In response, he could only shrug, “Well, would I be here if he was?”

Al’s lips pursed, gaze turning back down to the toon, hardening, “It’s the _Ink Demon._ I know Joey said this could happen, but . . . but can it really be that easy? How can it change, just like that?”

“Al, I know how you feel. I was hunted by the Demon just like you. And I know it’s hard to believe . . . but I _did_ see change here. Maybe its not going to be _easy_ , but . . . it’s definitely going to be different, going forward,” Henry said, looking down at the toon in his arms.

“‘Different’ doesn’t always mean ‘good’, Henry,” Al softly pointed out, eyes following his own.

He had to concede that to her, “True . . . but if it was a bad different, I don’t think I’d be here right now. But we can’t exactly go back, and . . . we can’t just pretend this isn’t happening.”

Al was quiet for a moment more, digesting his words, this situation . . . when she gave a sudden, long sigh, covering her face with both her hands, “Oh, Tom is _not_ going to be happy with this . . .”

Henry nodded, understanding. Of everyone present here, Tom was definitely going to be one of the hardest to convince.

“Well, guess there’s no point in delaying the inevitable. I take it everyone’s wondering where I am?” Henry inquired.

Al nodded, but her eyes did not leave the toon she once had feared, words quiet as if worried she might wake him, “Wondering. And worried. But _this_ is . . .”

“Yeah, I know,” he said, “But we can’t keep it a secret.”

“I suppose . . .”

Henry nodded once, then began to walk towards her, mentally preparing himself for the numerous potential reactions this new development could elicit. He stopped, however, when Al suddenly skirted back, eyes shooting warily to the toon he carried. Ah . . .

“Sorry . . .” he said, “I’ll keep back, if that makes you more comfortable.”

She cringed a little, shooting him a quick, apologetic glance, “Sorry, Henry. It’s just . . . I-I don’t know how to feel about-,”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” Henry gently assured her, “I know this is a lot to take in all at once. I’m honestly just glad you aren’t trying to skewer him.”

“Depending on how this goes, that could still happen,” Al put in, gripping the hilt of her sword as if to reassure herself it was still there.

Henry winced a little, but didn’t try to argue. After all, he had no idea how this Bendy would act once he was awake. He _wanted_ to believe a bit like the cherished toon he remembered, but . . . well, twenty years of being a monster was a long time. And he imagined things like that left a mark.

“Lets just . . . go see the others,” Henry finally said, “Before they all come down here looking for us.”

Al’s lips pursed, glancing again at the other toon, eyes swimming with uncertainty. Then, with another soft sigh, she acquiesced and stepped back, allowing him through. Despite his own exhaustion and lingering doubts, Henry gave her a smile he hoped was reassuring, as well as conveyed his gratitude towards her faith, however wary.

Then, taking one last moment to brace himself for what may happen, Henry departed through the door and back up to where the others waited.

_

To say the past few hours had been stressful would be a rather massive understatement.

Terrifying, hair-raising, heart pounding, and bloodcurdling would all be more apt descriptions. Joey doesn’t think he has ever been so scared before in his life.

But, by skill and faith and a ridiculous amount of luck . . . they’d survived. He’d survived.

By the skin of their teeth, maybe, but Joey’d rather not split hairs.

However . . . certain things still needed to be determined before he could truly call this night a success. Things such as what he had just explained to his coworkers and toons, for he knew he’d never get anywhere unless he explained himself.

But, judging by their rather shocked faces, Joey was beginning to doubt that this explanation was going to let him off the hook.

The first to break the stunned silence was Henry, who’s hand was pressed to his mouth as he processed what he had just been told, looking at him with an expression more serious than Joey’s ever seen before, “Joey, you can’t just . . . you can’t just _do_ something like that without telling everyone!”

Before Joey could even try to defend himself, Susie cut in to, looking distraught, “What if something had gone wrong, Joey?”

“What if you’d gotten hurt?” Alice whispered, hair a frazzled mess as Boris whined beside her.

Sammy piled on top of the yelling, irate even for the infamous music director, “This was stupid, even for you! How do you even know if it would have worked?”

The man’s voice dipped suddenly, muttering as he glanced at the door, golden iris glinting, “The Ink Demon’s voice is immutable, it’s will unassailable, it won’t change so easily, it won’t . . .”

There was a quiet pause as those gathered looked at the man in confused wonder, when said man suddenly grimaced hard and slapped a hand over his left eye, grounding out through clenched teeth, “Ignore that.”

Joey took the chance to start speaking, hoping to make them understand, “I . . . I know that this was a little reckless. And you have a reason to be upset! But I really believed this could work, and so far, it seems like it has!”

“How do ya know that, though?!” Bendy demanded now, throwing his arms up into the air in a show of frustration, “This thing tried to _kill_ everyone a few minutes ago, how can it change just like that?!”

Nearby, Joey heard the dour wolf known as Tom give a low, rumbling growl, in a way that hinted towards agreement. Oh, this was not going very well . . .

Surprisingly, it was Boris who came to his rescue, “I don’t know, Bendy . . . I mean, if Joey really did fix the problem, maybe he won’t be so bad anymore?”

Bendy was not so convinced, stubbornly shaking his head, “Okay, even if that is true, which I _doubt,_ that don’t just _erase_ the past twelve hours, or what it tried to do!”

Boris wilted at that, rubbing his elbow awkwardly as his ears lowered. Beside him, Alice fidgeted, looking at the floor, “I . . . feel like I have to agree with Bendy here. I just . . . I can’t see it . . . not after everything that happened.”

Joey’s heart sank a little at the normally forgiving angel’s words, glancing around to search for anyone who might at least be a little more optimistic. But everyone’s eyes are down, anxious and weary, no one looking like they could believe it. Joey knew that it wouldn’t be an easy switch, of course, and that some people would have a harder time than others, but . . . he’d hoped that they would at least believe _him._

Henry gave a sudden sigh, running a hand up his face into his hair, “Okay, okay, okay. Let’s just . . . let’s just back up a little bit here. Do you at least _know_ that it worked, Joey?”

Joey leaned back against the Machine, mulling his next words over carefully, “Erm, well, that’s what I need to find out, still . . . but what I saw was promising!”

And that much was true! At least, as much as a dissolving of an unstable form could be promising.

Several people only groaned, however, hands going to cover faces as Joey’s shoulder sagged. Oh, this was really not going very well . . .

That was when Tom suddenly straightened up, ears swiveling towards the door, eyes bright and suddenly alert. Everyone tensed in alarm, a tremor of reactionary fear running through them all in wake of the hectic hours they’d had, when the door opened once again and a familiar face came marching through. They all heaved a sigh of relief as Al stepped inside, the toon making a beeline for Tom with hurried, purposeful steps. Looks were traded, before Susie asked, “Um, Al? Is-?”

“I’m right here.”

Eyes swiveled back to the door, just in time to see the gray-skinned man from the other world step through. He looked exhausted, limping just a little, but thankfully looking unhurt. Well, as unhurt as he’d been before he’d vanished, that is, save for a strange dark stain along the front of his shirt.

A stain that . . . moved?

Joey blinked and rubbed at his eyes before looking again, but no, they weren’t playing tricks on him! The stain _was_ moving, shifting against the man’s shirt until he could just make out the curve of white face, cradled in the other Henry’s arms. A _familiar_ white face, and oh hell’s bells, he could barely believe it, but there it was, there was the proof, his idea had _worked!_

Joey scrambled upright, using the Machine for support, hardly able to stymie the wonderous laughter that bubbled up in his throat, one had flying to his hair as he exclaimed victoriously, “It WORKED! I knew it, I knew that part was missing, I _knew_ it just needed it back, it _worked!”_

His plan had been risky. There had been no way of knowing what the outcome would be at the end, although he had hoped . . . well, he’d _hoped,_ and his hopes hadn’t been in vain! It had _worked!_

But as his jubilated cries turned into exuberant panting, Joey began to become aware of the fact that . . . that nobody else seemed to be sharing in his excitement. No other sound went up at all, not even cries of shock. It wasn’t until he felt a hand clutch his pant leg that Joey looked down to see Bendy standing near him, eyes fixed on the pair by the door, looking . . . afraid.

In fact, they . . . all looked afraid. Alice had half hidden herself behind Susie, both hands over her mouth, while the actress had one arm protectively held across the angel with the other was clenched to her chest, eyes wide and uncertain. Boris had hunched down on himself, and despite his own words and his hope, the fear swimming in his eyes was unmistakable. Sammy had backed up to the rest of the group, eyes never straying from the burden the gray man carried, a multitude of emotions flicking over his face as a hand went up to grip his neck, while nearby he heard Tom growl.

“Oh my god . . .” he heard his Henry whisper, uninjured hand going up to clasp his head, “That’s . . .?”

A sudden spike of worry going through him at their reactions, Joey stepped forward, wobbling only a little until he stood in front of them, hands up and trying his level best to be reassuring, “H-hey now, its alright! This is what I had hoped would happen! There’s no Demon anymore-”

“Yes there is,” those words came from Sammy, but the gleam in his eyes made Joey wonder of that’s who was even speaking, “It’s right there! Just because it’s form has changed doesn’t mean the rest of it has! It’ll trick you, lure you in, and when you think you’re safe, that’s when it bites! We should destroy it, _now!”_

Joey stared at him in horror, when another snarl has him whipping around just in time to see Al grab hold of a bristling Tom. The wolf had his axe up, eyes zeroed in on the unconscious toon across from him, eyes that were frightfully murderous.

“Tom, not right now,” Al whispered to him desperately, trying to hold him back.

The wolf looked as if he was of half a mind to push her aside and carry on anyway, until another voice cut in uncompromisingly, “If you try to do that, Tom, I _will_ fight you.”

Joey looked back to see the other Henry had taken a wary step away, but his eyes burned with resolve and a very fierce promise; if the other tried anything, he’d make good on his word. Joey’s honestly a little surprised by how quickly the man would jump to the toon’s defense, after everything. Surprised . . . but not ungrateful, because it somehow seemed that they were on the same side in this matter.

“Why are you defending it?!” Sam(?) suddenly demanded, “You know what the Demon’s capable of, Henry!”

“Sam, I know you’re scared,” the other Henry said, and his eyes aren’t unsympathetic as he looked the other man over, “I know _everyone’s_ scared. But . . . and I can’t _believe_ I’m saying this . . . I think for once Joey’s magic did something right.”

Joey’s eyes widened at the same time he felt his heart swell just a little at the other’s words. After so long spent bearing the brunt of the man’s enmity, and after so stressful a time, it felt . . . good, to the think the other didn’t condemn his actions here. Agreed with them, even!

Sam, however, was not so convinced, “It’s the _Demon-!”_

The other man cut him off before he could even begin, exhaustion and frustration making his words curt and perhaps a touch harsh, “If it’s still the Demon, Sam, then that means you’re still the Prophet.”

Sam’s mouth snapped shut with an audible _click_ , staring wide-eyed like he couldn’t quite believe the man had just said that to him, expression bordered between shock and just a little hurt. Then, he looked away and lifted a hand to his eye, sighing deeply but saying nothing more. Across the way, the other Henry’s expression shifted into a guilty wince, but made no attempt to amend his words.

After a moment, Susie came up to him, placing a cautious hand on the music director’s shoulder, “Erm . . . Sam?”

“Not present,” the man said sharply, and Sammy finally looked up, a more familiar frown on his face. He gave the worried woman a glance before continuing, “I’m fine, Susie. Except for the part where I’m agreeing with the voice in my head about _this.”_

He pointed at the toon the other Henry carried, glaring at him hotly. The other man didn’t say anything to that, but stood his ground, even when Tom growled again.

Looks were traded amongst his coworkers and the toons in the ensuing tense silence that followed, until his Henry bravely stepped forward, swallowing, “Um, alright. So . . . you really believe what you’re saying, a-and its true, it looks . . . _he,_ looks different, but-,”

“How can ya be sure?” that quiet question came from Bendy, who’s eyes had not strayed once from the doppelganger that had once terrorized them so, disbelieving.

To that, the other man only shrugged and replied, “I’ve seen it.”

His words initially sounded cryptic, but Joey wanted to feel hopeful at them, because whatever this Henry had seen had been enough to turn the taciturn man’s heart. But the rest just looked confused, doubtful, and probably for understandable reasons.

“L-listen,” Joey started, trying again, “I know . . . this is a lot. These past few days have been . . . _a lot._ But I really believe its over now. And the missing piece that made him like that before, he _has_ it now.”

Unfortunately, not very many looked convinced. Many, in fact, didn’t look his way at all, faces troubled and nervous. Oh, what could he say to help them understand it was . . . okay, maybe not alright, but at least _better!_ There had to be something . . .

“Listen . . .” he heard the other Henry say behind him, sounding even more weary than before, “Its been a long night. And we’re all tired. Maybe . . . maybe we should leave the talking for tomorrow.”

“But what about . . .?” Alice trailed off, but it wasn’t like she needed to finish, as everyone’s eyes trailed down to stare at the toon the man carried in near perfect sync.

“I’ll stay with him,” the other said, a note of finality in his voice, “Away from everyone else.”

“By yourself, Henry?” Al asked him, eyes narrowing questioningly.

“If I have to. I don’t think Tom’s too interested in helping.”

The wolf shook his head, grunting.

“But yer hurt,” Boris said, staring at him worriedly.

“I’ll be fine,” the man told him reassuringly, “I promise.”

 “And what about the rest of us?” that question was quiet, muttered and perhaps not meant to be heard, if not for Joey’s own close proximity to its source. Bendy had crossed his arms, glaring at the floor and looking very displeased by this turn of events. But the trickle of ink along his brow betrayed his anxiety, how truly nervous this made him.

Also very understandable.

However, the other Henry spoke sense. They were all exhausted, and needed rest. He himself was holding on by tethers, the spell he’d used having sapped much of his strength, and sleep sounded wonderful after all of this, especially now since he had confirmation of his spell’s success. Besides, arguing like this would only make things worse.

“I . . . think we should take his advice,” he started, slowly, somewhat hesitantly, “Things always look better after a bit of rest, and we all could use it! Although . . .” he looked his friend’s way, pointedly, “I think you should go to a hospital first, Henry.”

The man blinked. Then, as if pointing it out reminded him of the pain, winced a little as his free hand pressed against the rough splint they’d made in his office. His arm had definitely been broken, and needed to be seen to by professionals. The sooner, the better.

“I agree with that,” Susie said, softly, “I can take you.”

“And what about us?” Sammy asked, eyes fixed on the toon, “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I don’t fancy sleeping under the same roof as _that.”_

Indeed, none of them looked very keen on that. Hm, it was happening a little late, but Joey was starting to feel that . . . maybe he’d been a bit _too_ optimistic about how accepting everyone would feel once this was done.

“Like I said, I’ll stay away. You can barricade the door, if that makes you feel better,” the other Henry offered.

Joey pursed his lips and shifted in place, thoughtful for a moment, before looking at the other man and tentatively speaking up, “I . . . might have a better idea.”

The other looked his way, eyes narrowing just a little. But he didn’t interrupt him or tell him to stop, so Joey carried on, “A simple binding circle, like the one we used before. Just to . . . keep him in place. No barricades required!”

His attempt at being humorous ultimately fell flat, but the other Henry seemed to consider his words seriously . . . before finally nodding, “That sounds fair. If it helps everyone feel safer, we can do it.”

Joey sighed in relief, though he didn’t quite look forward to using it. He wanted to believe that things would improve at this point with the ‘demon’ that had tried to hurt them, but treating him like a prisoner seemed the wrong way to go about establishing trust.

But no one disagreed with that plan, so Joey had no choice but to go along with it, “Alright. We’ll . . . do that.”

Tom snarled again, turning away from them sharply, and even Al looked troubled by his response. The gray man only sighed, before stepping towards the door, “Let’s just go.”

Joey nodded, but not before looking back to the rest. The rest, who were all looking at him, faces a blend of uncertainty, worry, and fear.

“It . . . it’ll be alright now,” he murmured, one last attempt to soothe their worries, “You’ll see.”

It’s Henry, one his oldest and closest friends, who finally broke the silence, but only with a fretting stare, a frown on his face as his hand gently pressed against his injured arm once again, “I hope you’re right Joey. For all our sakes.”

It seemed that was all anyone was going to say. All they could say. So, with a heavier heart than he’d thought he’d be carrying after their success, Joey retreated out the door to follow after Henry’s counterpart. He heard voices begin to speak behind him, but he didn’t try to parse them. Better to . . . get this done with for now. Then get some sleep.

Before that, though . . .

“Thank you.”

The other Henry looked back at him, a faint note of surprise on his face, eyebrow raised questioningly. Joey rubbed the back of his head, fighting down his own nervousness before elaborating, “For . . . trusting me. I know that couldn’t have been easy. And for standing up for . . . well, Bendy.”

The man’s eyes widened a little, before understanding crossed his face, dipping his head a little in acknowledgment.

“Give them time,” was all he said, “This isn’t easy for them.”

Joey nodded, “I knew it wouldn’t be, but . . . I’d hoped they’d believe me when I explained what I’d done.”

“. . . things’ll look better tomorrow.”

Joey certainly hoped the man was right. He really did.

Although . . . now that he had some time to breathe, he couldn’t help but feel like he was forgetting something . . .

Ah, it couldn’t be too urgent if he couldn’t remember right now. He’ll figure it out tomorrow.

*

*

*

Voice of

JOEY DREW

_Dreams! That’s the stuff people believe in right there! Toss out the word dreams, and they all start chompin’ at the bit!_

_Do I believe in dreams? Of course! How do you think Drew Studios came to be, if not for a dreamer who believed their vision could be reality!_

_Of course, there are those out there who say that some dreams . . . just aren’t possible._

_I say . . . they’re wrong._

_I have an idea. Oh, its quite the idea, one where I can already hear the nay-sayers of the world telling me to quit while I’m ahead!_

_But dreamers don’t quit. Joey Drew doesn’t quit._

_And as I always like to say . . ._

_Anything is possible when you just believe!_


	2. Quiet Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quiet, uneventful morning
> 
> A simple exchange of words

_There’s a silence in the room the room that sat far heavier than Henry would have anticipated. Across from him, Joey sat in his chair, staring at him over his steepled fingers, the smile he liked to don on workdays appearing frozen on his face._

_“. . . what?” his boss straightened a little, that smile growing just a little more as he stuck the tip of a pinkie into his ear, “I’m sorry, Henry, my hearing must be going today, too much time downstairs! But I swear, it almost sounded like you said you_ quit.”

_Henry was prepared for this. He knew Joey would take it hard, but he took a subtle breath and remained firm in his decision, “Your hearing’s not going. I did say that.”_

_Again, the man stopped the theatrics, staring once again with wide eyes like he genuinely couldn’t believe Henry was saying what he was saying._

_“ . . . why? We’ve been doing such great work here, Henry, you can’t seriously be thinking of just abandoning it all!”_

_Henry frowned a little, but didn’t look away. Anything like that, Joey would take as doubt, and leap on that relentlessly, “I’ve thought about this hard, Joey, and I’m not making this decision lightly. But . . . but I’ve decided that I can’t just work my life away.”_

_“That’s the nature of the business, Henry, you knew that when you signed on!” Joey pointed out, eyes hardening, “That’s what it takes to make our dreams come true, its hard work!”_

_“But at what cost, Joey?” Henry asked softly, feeling tired, “It feels like I’m at my desk more than I’m home. It feels like a barely see Linda anymore! And I just . . . I just can’t keep doing this, Joey, and that’s my final decision. You have a good crew here, and great animators. It’s not like you’ll be high and dry.”_

_Henry rose from his seat, walking back to the door as Joey sat in stunned silence._

_Its only when his hand found the doorknob that the other man started upright out of his chair, shouting, “Henry, wait! Let’s just roll this back a bit and . . . and talk about this. Like reasonable adults, yes? I’m sure we could come to an agreeable solution that benefits us both and solves all these problems. Just sit back down, alright?”_

_Henry paused, for just a moment._

_Then, he sighed, “I’ll work until my two weeks are up. Then, I’m gone.”_

_And Henry opened the door and walked outside. He heard Joey call out to him anyway, and he did his best to ignore it as he made his way back to his desk._

_“You can’t just walk away from all of this! You can’t just walk away from me! Stein!_ STEIN!”

*  
*  
*  
*

          Henry woke with a bit of a start, blinking bleary eyes open as the world came rushing back into focus.

          With a wince, he sat back up, stomach still smarting even thought the worst of the pain was gone. Idly rubbing a hand over the fresh bandages, he glanced around at his surroundings, eyeing them somewhat warily.

          Joey had recommended his office to use, as it was far enough away for the others taste but not so far he couldn’t get help if he needed it. Plus the couch, and the fact that the things he’d needed were right inside. Which was . . . fine, he guessed.

          But being inside it isn’t exactly pleasant. It felt like being there was triggering the strange dreams he’d been having, dredging up memories better left buried. Even if the man here _was_ a different person, there was much inside this room in particular that felt far too similar.

          But he supposed that those weren’t that important in the grand scheme of things.

          Glancing down, Henry took in again the charge he’d been given; the changed Demon he’d once run from.

          From the looks of things, he hadn’t woken once, still curled up asleep in the drawer Joey had pulled out from one of his shelves.

          _‘Bendy used to sleep on one of the drawers in my office. I think he’d find it comfortable too.’_

          So Joey had said, and he supposed he’d heard stranger. The toon certainly didn’t seem bothered by it as he slept. Nor did he seem bothered by the runes drawn underneath him, the binding circle to keep him in place. For now, at least.

          With a sigh, Henry leaned back, glancing at the clock hanging on the wall. If it was accurate, it was getting close to eight in what he assumed was the morning, some hours since the incident. Enough time to allow the weariness that had come with the event to abate. And his healing ability, though stunted, was still working, as the pain he’d been in was nowhere near as bad.

          Sighing, Henry leaned back against the seat, resting his head along the back to gaze up at the ceiling, just . . . reflecting.

          It felt like so much had happened . . . so many impossible things. The most impossible being that it had ended the way it had. However, he couldn’t say he was surprised by the way the rest had reacted in regard to the sudden change. How else could they react? This monster that had terrorized them so, how could they believe it would change?

          To be honest, Henry wondered why he didn’t feel the same. Maybe it was because he had been there, had seen how deeply the change had run. Maybe it was because a part of him had always wanted this to be the way the story had ended, in his most wild of unlikely daydreams. But one thing was for certain . . . he truly wanted to believe that Bendy would change for the better now, and that . . . things n general could get better.

          All he could do now was carry on forward.

          Not to say that he really . . . _knows,_ what they would do, going forward. Where would he and the others stay? Where could they even go? There was no safe haven out there for them, that much was obvious, but Henry can’t help but feel uneasy at the thought of remaining inside the studio. Even if its different . . . even if its _better,_ it’s still the _Studio._ And what would they even do once it was up and running again? How would the rest of the crew here react to their presence?

          How could Henry deal with seeing so many familiar faces, knowing they weren’t really the ones he knew, because the ones he knew were worse than dead?

          He sighed again, a little shakier this time, bringing a hand up to cover his face. No, there was no point in asking questions like those. Whatever happened . . . happened, and he’d just have to deal with it like he’d done for everything else.

          Any further thoughts he might have had get stalled, however, when the door to the office suddenly, if quietly, clicked open.

          Henry is immediately alert, straightening up and instinctively reaching for his axe, just within arm’s reach. He stopped, though, when he saw who was entering.

          Joey Drew was doing his best to be quiet as he maneuvered inside, carefully balancing a small pink box in one hand while in his other was . . . a set of clothes? Henry couldn’t quite tell with the angle and the dark. Still, once he recognized who it was, Henry allowed himself to relax.

          Well, marginally. It was still Joey.

          Its not much longer before the other man finally noticed he was awake, jumping a little when he did, “Oh, you’re awake!”

          In the next instant, Joey looked towards the changed toon he’d bound in the center of his office, “Is-?”

          “No, he’s not. But he will be if you keep this up,” Henry told him.

          Joey nodded, voice dropping to a much softer whisper, “You’re right, sorry.”

          Instead of leaving, the man stepped the rest of the way inside, awkwardly closing the door behind him with the heel of his foot. Frowning a little, Henry tilted his head and asked, “So, what are you doing here? Where’s everyone else?”

          “Oh, they’re asleep still. It was . . . a long night. I woke up myself just a bit ago, and I couldn’t go back to sleep,” Joey said. Then, he straightened a little, putting on small smile as he held up the box, “As for why I’m here . . . I wanted to make sure everything was going alright, and that everything was going smoothly with Bendy, magic-wise. Also, I thought I might leave a few of these here with you for later. Susie brought everyone donuts yesterday morning, and I thought you might be hungry when you woke up.”

          A beat. Then Joey kept going, “You . . . do eat human food, right? I mean, I don’t mean to _assume_ anything, and-,”

          Henry isn’t really listening though. He had entirely tuned Joey out at this point to focus instead on the box he was holding, because if he was being truthful, there were _donuts_ inside it, and good god how long has it been since he’d last had a donut? Plain, chocolate, frosted, it all sounded _delightful,_ and he was practically drooling already at the thought of sinking his teeth into one.

          Its not until the box is suddenly held closer to him that his trance is broken, and he realized the room had gone quiet. Looking up, he saw that Joey was staring back, a somewhat awkward and sheepish expression on his face as he offered the box to him.

          With a rush sudden embarrassment, Henry realized that his want must have been _excruciatingly_ obvious for this man in particular to notice, and what made the whole situation even more mortifying for him was the fact that he felt his cheeks heat up in response. Stomach churning, Henry looked away, hoping the other man didn’t notice.

          But the box was _right_ there, in grabbing distance . . . and this close he could catch a whiff of the baked pastry goodness inside, the sweetness of the frosting, and it smelled so _good_ . . .

          It’s not much longer before he found himself caving, and he reached out and took the box into his own hands.

          “Thanks . . .” he mumbled, feeling a twinge of discomfort at thanking Drew for anything. But when he glanced up, he saw the man was looking back with a sparkle in his eyes, looking so damn pleased by his acceptance you’d think he was receiving an accolade from the president or something.

          Deciding he didn’t really want to see that look anymore, Henry opted to flick open the lid of the donut box and peruse what was inside. There were only three, a powdered one, one that was frosted with sprinkles, and a simple plain one, all very simple and neat and to the point. And . . . and each one a personal favorite of his, from long ago. He doesn’t know if its coincidental or not. Henry doesn’t really want to ask.

          What he does do, was pick up the powdered one between the other two and take a quick, hasty bite. His teeth sank through the dough so very pleasantly, the cool, powdery sugar tasting sweet, and he can’t quite hold back a moan as he chewed on the food with relish.

          And . . . he supposed he’d have to admit that Joey was right, for once. He hadn’t noticed it until right then, but he _was_ quite hungry, and the donut was soon polished off.

          Licking off the remaining sugar from his fingers, Henry finally looked around to see what the other man was doing, just to make sure he didn’t lose sight of him. He found him quickly, as Joey had crouched down beside the circle and its inhabitant, though his eyes were watching Henry with a slight smile on his face.

          Upon being caught, however, he ducked down just a little, waving back a little sheepishly, “Ah, sorry. I didn’t mean to stare.”

          Henry lifted an eyebrow, trying not to let his own embarrassment show. He’s . . . not exactly sure what to do with him here. Making small talk seemed redundant, and also . . . well, Joey wouldn’t exactly be his first pick for a conversation partner.

          “Oh, by the way,” Joey suddenly piped up, drawing Henry’s full focus once again. Once he had it, the head of the studio gestured to the corner of his desk, where he’d set down his second package; what did indeed seem to be clothes, “Our Henry had Susie drop him off at his home last night, after the hospital. He was, uh . . . forced to stay, but he thought you might appreciate a change of clothes.”

          “Forced to stay?” Henry echoed, feeling a small thrill of alarm.

          “Oh, nothing to worry about, I promise,” Joey said, shrugging slightly, “To be honest, its not surprising. Linda was rather upset about the whole affair, and-.”

          All of Henry’s thought processes completely stop, and though he’s vaguely aware that Joey was still talking, he can’t hear a word of it.

_Linda . . ._

          She . . . she would be in this world too, wouldn’t she? This kind, happy world where nothing had ever gone wrong, of _course_ she’d be a part of the happy ending he’d only dreamed of. How long has it been since he’d last seen her? Her face, her smile, her laughter . . . for a moment, he thought he could see and hear it all, those vague, far away recollections he’d nurtured as time fought to wear it all away, and its so close to the surface it brought back all the longing and the hurt those memories always brought, enough to make his eyes sting.

          For one vertigo-inducing second, a near-manic urge swept through him, to run to the phone and dial the number they’d once shared, to call her and talk to her and do so many other things he’d longed to do but never got the chance. To apologize, to tell her how much he loved her, so, _so_ much . . .

          But reality caught up mere moments after, and he had to remind himself that she, just like everything in this world, was not his to go back to. Here, someone else had her hand and her heart, and that’s just the way it was, as bitter a pill it was to swallow. Lucky, lucky bastard . . .

          “Henry?”

           The voice jolted him from his reverie, coming back into the present, and he quickly looked away, trying to stifle the pain and the frustrating wetness he felt gathering at the corners of his eyes, refusing to let anything loose in front of Joey.

          _Just block it out. You’ve done it before . . ._

          “Is that . . . is that alright?” Joey asked after a stretch of long silence, “You don’t have to accept it, if you’re not comfortable. Henry would understand.”

          “It’s not that,” Henry finally said, shaking his head, taking a breath in an effort to control his voice, “It’s just . . . it’s nothing. Tell him I appreciate it.”

          Joey didn’t press anymore on the subject, thankfully. And, not wanting to dwell anymore on the things he could no longer have, he finally looked at the set of clothes he’d been lent.

          They’re simple clothes, pants and shirt, and he supposed they looked comfortable enough. He hasn’t worn anything different in . . . a long time. No to mention _clean._ Oh, sure, he’d _start_ that way in the beginning, but once the story got into full swing, there had been no point in trying to stay that way in his studio. Inevitably, he would just get ink all over them, until it felt like he was wearing a slimy second skin.

          He realized he’d begun to idly tug at the hem of his own shirt, feeling the fabric between his fingers. They’re gray and white and black like himself, and a part of him has always wondered if they were made of ink like he was too, made to _feel_ real, but nothing more. A part of his ‘design’, one might say.  

          . . . he guessed it would be nice, to wear something different . . .

          “I’ll let him know that,” Joey replied, and he sounded pleased, hopefully unaware of the other’s upset.

           And, when Henry at last felt in control enough to look back, it was to see that the man had turned his attention to the toon sleeping amidst them, quietly examining the small creature with a careful and steady eye. Henry watched for a moment, glancing the toon’s way himself. Still hadn’t stirred once . . . he wondered if that was a bad thing.

          Well . . . there was someone nearby with more experience than him in that regard he could ask . . .

          After a solid several seconds of chewing on his lower lip in uncertainty, Henry finally relented to his own curiosity, “So . . . how is this working out? Is he supposed to sleep this much?”

          Without looking up from his examination, the man responded, “It looks good so far. No melting or instability that I can see, which is pretty much the only concern as far as the body goes. As for his sleeping, that’s fairly normal. The change must have taken up a lot of his energy, not to mention the sudden rush of emotions he no doubt received with it. Although, I do have one small question.”

          “Which is?”

          The man quietly tapped the tips of his fingers together, looking like he was trying to figure out how best to phrase his next question before finally speaking, “Did your Bendy, in the cartoon . . . did he ever have a tail?”

          The man’s question made Henry a little worried. Not because of any nefarious reason, for once, but because the man called to light something that had been bothering him as well, and if Joey didn’t understand why it was there, then who would?

          “No. Never. I thought you might know why that was,” Henry responded, frowning slightly.

          “Hmm . . . I can’t really say for sure, if that’s not a part of his character design,” Joey said, frowning himself, “But I don’t think it should be anything problematic.”

          Henry guessed that was all they could hope for. Still, he had other questions, “When will he wake up?”

          “Ooh, that’s hard to say. It could be in another hour. It could be another day,” Joey answered, shoulders drooping, “There’s nothing that’s ever really been . . . _exact,_ about magic. You just sort of . . . let it loose and hope for the best.”

          “That sounds dangerous,” Henry said, incredulous. But then, can he really say he was surprised?

          “Weeell . . .” Joey gave a long, deep sigh, running a hand over his eyes, “I suppose I can’t say its not anymore, can I? Not after all this.”

          “It always was,” Henry replied curtly, “You’ve just been very lucky.”

          To his credit, the other man nodded in agreement, voice muted and sad, “I suppose I have been . . .”

           More silence reigned, neither saying anything, and Henry might have let it lie if not for one last, important question. Perhaps the most important for him and his friends going forward.

          “So . . . what happens now?” he inquired, bracing himself for whatever response might come.

          But Joey just looked confused, brow knitting together as he looked his way, “I’m sorry, I’m not sure I’m catching your meaning.”

          Henry sighed, but elaborated, “Me and the others. What’s going to happen, now that this is over?”

          The man’s eyes lit up with understanding, and Joey rose to his feet, scratching at the back of his head with his lips pursed in thought, “Well, I’m . . . not entirely sure. I haven’t given it too much thought.”

          Of course . . .

          Despite the fact that he should have seen this coming, Henry can’t help but feel a little disappointed. If only for the fact that he himself was genuinely at a loss for what to do and, while he was loathe to admit it, their unintentional benefactors had the only place they could safely stay.

          And, after all this, he wouldn’t be surprised if they wanted nothing to do with them, would finally just turn them away . . .

          That’s when Joey spoke again, “I’m sure it will be fine, though! I mean . . . if you’re comfortable with it, you and the others can stay here for the time being. We can figure out accommodations later, and once the rest of the crew meet you, you’ll find they’re all rather helpful! Mostly! And the staring should go away within a week or two!”

          Henry looked at the man, feeling . . . just a little floored by his seemingly unshakeable optimism. He said it like he really believed it would be that simple, like he and the rest of his allies wouldn’t throw everyone for a loop and upset everything they knew.

          “Listen . . .” Joey continued in the lull, rubbing one hand timorously, but his face and eyes are earnest, more than the man he’d known had ever been, “I know that . . . this studio probably doesn’t exactly have the best memories for you, but . . . it should at least serve for now, right? Until we can perhaps find something better. And I really do mean it when I say the people here will help you. They’re a good bunch.”

          Henry sighed a little, leaning back against the couch and running a hand over his face, shaking his head, “You really think it’ll just be that easy?”

          “W-well . . . maybe not _easy,”_ the man admitted, shrugging. But then, he out on a more reassuring smile, pointing a finger towards the ceiling, “But the only place to go from the bottom is up right?”

          Henry stared, huffing a breath that could almost be mistaken for a disbelieving laugh. This man . . . he spoke with an absolute genuineness, a true belief that things would really get better for them. It’s the kind of words people would quote to themselves when they were feeling down or scared, the kind to lift you up in dark moments, and some part of Henry wanted to believe that too, _so_ desperately . . . but its Joey Drew speaking them, and that makes it so very hard to believe anything, no matter how different he is.

          Instead, he just sighed again and sagged backwards, letting his gaze fall to the floor, “I guess will just have to see, won’t we?”

          “. . . does that mean you’ll stay?”

          Jeez, the man almost sounded _hopeful._ He really couldn’t fathom why.

          But finally, after a moment, Henry spoke, “I can’t really speak for everyone. But where else would any of us go?”

          Joey nodded, “A fair point, I guess. But it’ll get better. You’ll see.”

          He left it there, and Henry let the quiet filter in with only the ticking of the clock to break it. His doubts aren’t exactly assuaged, and there’s . . . a lot here he had to deal with internally. A lot of . . . information, that he has to process and come to terms with.

          Linda . . .

          Henry sighed again and tried not to think about it for now, reaching instead for another donut to hopefully settle the churning in his gut . . .

          When a sudden, distant scream broke the silence to pieces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But what trouble's lurking now?
> 
> In the hallways, what has stirred?


	3. Just an Ordinary Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its always good to see familiar faces
> 
> Its been a while since these doors were open last
> 
> And though something curious sets the workers through their paces

Voice of

NORMAN POLK

_Things have been gettin’ . . . strange lately. And that’s sayin’ something for Drew’s studio._

_Weird regulations, weirder rules, and it seems like everyone’s goin’ nuttier than usual. Like everyone’s on edge, waitin’ for something to happen._

_And, though it might just be me, seems like a lot of people are . . . quitting._

_People with promisin’ futures. Who’d been here for years. Who didn’t have a real reason to quit._

_And nobody seems to know where they’ve gone._

_The boss’ll just say they moved on. But between that, the way this place feels like its turnin’ into a cult instead of a studio, and what Jack told me . . . feels like somethin’ fishy’s going on._

_Not that I can just ask. But its gettin’ to where I can’t just ignore it, either. With everythin’ that’s happening . . ._

_. . . something’s goin’ on. And my guts tellin’ me I need to find out what._

*

*

*

*

          The air was crisp and clear that morning, fresh after the recent rain, the sky a spread of orange and yellow as the sun gently rose into the sky. Birds twittered in the trees, the plants looked lively and flush after yesterday’s storm, and this early, everything seemed calm and peaceful. The signs of a very pleasant and beautiful day.

          A shame Norman would be spending it inside the studio.

          That’s not to say he wasn’t unhappy with that. It had been a week since it had shut down due to complications, and he was itching to get back in the booth. Not only that, but he was eager for an update on the whole Sammy situation. It’s one thing to miss out on good work, but when a coworker (and, on a good day, a friend) goes missing, it makes enjoying a sudden vacation a little difficult. He’d even swung by a few places he knew Sammy liked to frequent on occasion, just to check, but . . . well, no luck.

          But now, the estimated week of downtime was up, and he hadn’t received any calls about that time needing to be extended, so that meant everything could carry on as usual. Well, as ‘usual’ as could be for Hell’s Studio.

          He pulled into the parking lot exactly five minutes before eight, finding a spot relatively close to the front of the building. There were a few other cars there as well, most he recognized, as well as a few people milling about the entrance already. Early birds, like himself.

          However, as he killed the ignition and stepped outside, he’s greeted by a loud and familiar voice, “Hey! Mornin’, Norman!”

          Eyebrow rising in surprise, Norman shut the door to his car and turned around, watching as a familiar janitor walked up to him, “Mornin’, Wally. Rare to see you here so early.”

          The janitor tilted his hat forward, grinning, “Ah, well, I just came by to make sure everythin’ got touched up like they was supposed to! Don’t need to be yelled at about it later if one a the boys missed somethin’, ya know? Oh, and I wanted to check up on Miss Susie and them!”

          Norman had already begun walking towards the door, but that made him glance at the other man, puzzled, “What? What’dya mean ‘Susie and them’?”

          Franks scratched his head, frowning a little, “Well, they were here when me and the boys cleaned up the place! Joey, Henry, and all the toons, too.”

          Now that _really_ confused Norman, “What were they doin’ here when the place was flooded?”

          The man shrugged, “Eh, I don’t know. I didn’t ask. But I guess its got somethin’ ta do with Sammy.”

          Norman frowned a little, running a hand over his chin in thought. Made a surprising amount of sense, Wally’s guess. And if that was the case, he wanted that to make him hopeful that the group had had some kind of breakthrough in regard to the music director’s strange disappearing act.

          That was when Wally opened his mouth again, idly tossing his keys up and down, “A course, that’s if the guy didn’t just fly the coop.”

          Norman rolled his eyes, “Come on now, Franks, ya don’t really believe that, do you?”

          The janitor threw his arms up defensibly, nearly dropping his keys in the process, “Well, he’s always complainin’ about workin’ here, don’t that just make sense? And if he didn’t just leave, then, ya know . . . that means somethin’ bad mighta happened.”

          At that, Norman’s expression softened a little, Wally voicing out loud his own internal worries. He didn’t want to believe it, because for all its strangeness, nothing _terrible_ has ever happened before in the studio. But . . . well, as the darker parts of his mind liked to whisper . . . there was a first time for everything. And no one’s ever gone _missing_ before.

         “Right. Well, if our boss was here, then that should mean he figured somethin’ out right? Can’t see any other reason why they’d slog through all that ink,” Norman put out, trying to sound more assured than he felt.

          Thankfully, Wally seemed to buy it, “Yeah, I guess that’s true.”

          The pair had made it to the door by now, and Norman exchanged quick greeting with some of the faces he saw there that were clocking in too. A few animators and some of the band members, one of the secretaries . . .

          He straightened a little when he spied another face amongst the gathered group, raising his voice so he could be heard, “Hey, Grant!”

          The studio’s head accountant jumped at the sound of his name being called, nearly dropping the folder he had been flipping through as he spun around. Norman lifted an eyebrow, lip twitching with amusement, “Easy, it’s just me.”

          The man pushed his glasses back up, heaving a sigh, “Norman! Good morning.”

          “You’re lookin’ a little frazzled today,” Norman commented, taking in the other man’s somewhat disheveled appearance, like he’d thrown on a suit as soon as he’d rolled out of bed and run out the door, “Repair costs gettin’ to you?”

          The man sighed again, flipping his folder open again, “If only. I just need to talk with Joey about . . .” he waved at the page in frustration, “His park idea!”

          Norman tilted his head in understanding. Grant was always run through the ringer whenever Joey got ideas like these. But he usually came through after crunching the numbers, and he had yet to be run so ragged he quit, “Ah, I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

          The man huffed a little, shaking his head as his eyes traveled back to the folder, “A theme park? Really, does he think we just magically have the funds laying around the studio somewhere?”

          “Ya really want an answer to that?” Norman asked him.

          “. . . no.”

          Norman watched as the other perused through his folder again with squinted eyes, before idly asking, “Hey, Grant . . . did you know that Joey’s apparently been here for a few days now?”

          Grant barely looked up from his work, half-shrugging, “Nothing I’ve heard about.”

          “Hm . . .” Norman hummed, glancing at the building. He guessed this operation of theirs was more clandestine than he’d thought . . .

           Norman looked back down as Wally made his way over to the door, keys jangling as he flicked through them. It’s not much longer before the entrance to the studio was swinging open and everyone began to file inside after the janitor with animated talk, as eager to get back to work as Norman himself was. He wondered if it was possible to locate Henry before he did though, just to ask what they had been doing here. Hopefully, it was good news. He’d like a little after the upset last week . . .

          Then, things could finally start getting back to normal . . .

          Its that exact moment that he heard several people suddenly cry out, exclamations of shock and distress rising up in chorus, topped by a loud and indecipherable yell.

          Hurriedly, Norman pushed his way through the crowd, alarm filling him as he entered the building proper. The smell hit him first, that sharp stench of ink, but there was something underneath it that made him wrinkle his nose. Like . . . some kind of moldy rot.

          And then, when he finally managed to burst to the front, he stopped dead.

          The studio had supposedly been cleaned just a few days ago. But it did _not_ look that way _at all._ Ink was _everywhere_ in the front hall, staining wood and cloth alike, runnels of black oozing down the sides of the walls. The texture looked . . . wrong too. Congealed. Halfway rotten, somehow, even though he’s never known the ink to do that.

          Shocked murmurs and questions were rising up all around him, and standing at the head of the amassed crowd, he could see Wally, who’s hands had gone to clasp at his head, mouth hanging open in horror.

          “What happened?” one person murmured.

          “Don’t look at me . . .” another mumbled.

          “Gah, what’s going on? It smells so _bad_ . . .”

          “I . . . I . . .” Ahead of them all, Wally thrust his arms out towards the mess, shouting irately, _“I_ JUST _CLEANED THIS PLACE!!”_

          Beside him, Norman heard Grant groan softly, eyes glazing just a little as he took in the sight, already mentally running the numbers on repair costs.

          It’s fairly normal for spills to happen, Norman knows that. That was the price the Ink Machine had exacted on the studio ever since its creation. This setup, this situation, this scenario . . . all of it is normal.

          But something about this mess . . . bothered Norman. For one, it shouldn’t be here, but the atmosphere, the _smell_ . . . something seemed off. Enough that it unsettled something in him, some instinct that told him to turn around and leave. Quietly, he crept forward and placed a hand on the fuming janitor’s shoulder, whispering, “Wally, you said Joey and a few others were here before?”

          “I just cleaned this place . . .” was all the janitor mumbled in reply, now in some kind of fugue state as he stared at all his wasted efforts.

          Norman sighed, then stood straight and shook his head. Maybe he didn’t even need to ask. Norman was sure he’d seen Joey’s car outside anyway, so he must be here somewhere, same as a few days ago. He must have just . . . done something with one of his spells again to cause this.

          Hopefully . . .

          “Alright, enough standin’ around!” he called out to the rest of the gawking employees, deciding to take some action instead, “Those of ya not afraid to get you’re shoes wet, lets do a quick sweep and make sure nothin’ got damaged! And find Joey! He’s here somewhere.”

          There’s some scuffling, but soon enough, volunteers were soon sorted out and they began delving deeper into the studio. Its more of the same as they walked, for all intents and purposes like any other flood they’ve had in the past, albeit on a grander scale than he’s used to. He has no idea what Joey could have done to make such a mess, but it must have been one hell of a doozy, that was for sure.

          Its not until they make it to the animation department that things took a turn.

          A much darker, more ominous turn.

          The place was more than just dirty, which was a rarity in and of itself for the department seeing as they’d ink-proofed this place rigorously to avoid any art loss. The place was _trashed,_ like some kind of hurricane had blown through; stations were wrecked, several cubicles busted and knocked down, ink _everywhere_. . .

          “What in the world . . .?” Norman murmured, walking around and staring at the scene of ruin around him. Norman is very familiar with what constitutes a ‘normal’ event in this studio.

          This was most assuredly _not._ And that bothered him immensely. And more than that . . . it _worried_ him.

          The others who’d come with him had begun to pick their way through the mess as well, mutterings of malcontent rising up from them as a few attempted to salvage the remains of the animation department. For all the good that would do, judging by the damage. It was like . . . it was like some kind of _fight_ had broken out in here . . .

          Norman found himself swallowing, not liking chord of anxiety that thought struck. What happened here? And just _where_ was Joey and the toons?

          “Ah man, just what was everyone _doin’_ in here while we was gone?!” he heard Wally demand, most likely to himself as he angrily took in the mess, “It’s been just two days!”

          Nearby, someone said, “Stop bellyachin’ Wally, its not going to do fix anything.”

          _“This took two days!”_

          Norman tuned it out. He understood why Wally was so upset, he did. But right now, he’s beginning to feel a bit too worried to try and calm him down.

          “Hey, u-uh, Norman?” he heard someone call out, one the band members he worked closely with. Robert, he recalled. The man was staring at the wall of one cubicle nearby, and Norman finds himself growing a little alarmed at how pale his face looked.

          Coming over, brow furrowed, Norman asked, “What is it, Robert?”

          The man glanced his way, wide-eyed, then looked back to the wall he’d been staring at, gesturing loosely in its direction. And, with no other instruction to follow, Norman looked.

          And felt his heart give a hard, unpleasant _thud._

          Huge, narrow rents had been dug through the plaster, so deep he could see clean through to the other side in some places. There were four in total, the edges shredded and covered with a thick, black residue that almost looked like ink, but was far more viscous than ink should be.

          Were these . . . were these _claw marks?_

          Behind him, other people had begun to gather, whispering nervously, as if suddenly too nervous to speak any louder. He can’t blame them. Whatever had happened in the interim since they’d been gone, it had been sudden. The studio has always been the kind of place to feel like a zany and out-there sitcom, but right now . . . it was starting to feel too much like a horror movie for his tastes. And just where was Joey and the others?

          “What the hell . . . _”_ Norman breathed, staring at the marks with a growing sense of unease.

          And if he thought the situation couldn’t get any weirder or worse, it was that exact moment they all heard someone scream.

          Norman’s moving before the rest, alarm lighting up every sense as he ran towards the source, knee-jerk impulse spurring him on. He heard several others begin to chase after him soon, something that gives him a little more comfort as he charged recklessly through the doors out into the hall.

          The hallway goes two ways outside, and for a moment, Norman couldn’t figure out which way to go.

          Its not until a frightened voice echoed from further in that he got a direction, a voice that he could now recognize as Grant’s, “Wait, wait, wait _waitwait,_ Boris, it’s _me!”_

          Norman’s running towards the noise before its even finished, rounding the corner and nearly skidding through a puddle on the floor, righting himself at the last moment, “Grant!”

          The sight that greeted him is both alarming and also very confusing, because the situation he found with the set of people playing it out could not be more conflicting if it tried.

          Grant’s back is to the wall, folder laying dropped and forgotten as his hands are up to grasp at the wrist of the attacker that has pinned him there. An attacker that is also startingly familiar to Norman, because the attacker is _Boris!_ Kindly, gentle, would-never-so-much-as-hurt-a-fly Boris, ears laid back and lips drawn into the unfriendliest snarl he’s ever seen, glaring hotly into the accountant’s face with anger in his eyes. At Norman’s approach, however, the toon whipped his head around, and does something Norman’s never heard before; he growled, deep and harsh, exposing canines that glinted in the overhead light. Its so startling it stopped him dead in his tracks, truly taken aback.

          Its then a second shape Norman didn’t immediately notice (on account of the obvious) appeared at the wolf’s side, a shape that, for a moment, made him sag with relief. If Alice was here, she could help him calm everyone down, get to the bottom of whatever was going on!

          Until he looked closer. At an Alice who seemed just a little too tall, hair a little too straight, eyes a little too _colorful_ , a piercing yellow that fixed him to the spot, but not as surely as when he finally noticed the sharp, decidedly not-angelic implement this imposter brandished his way. A sword.

          Feeling like his heart was sinking through the floor, Norman held his hands up passively, placatingly, hoping not to antagonize these apparent strangers with too-familiar faces, feeling disturbed and upset. His mind ran circles on what could have happened to cause this, why these two were acting like this, just what Joey had done now!?

          “Norman? Norman, you find what was-AH!”

          Norman winced as Wally rounded the corner, along with several others, all drawn by the commotion but stopping dead at the sight, exclamations of shock rising up. But he does not take his eyes of the pair before him, glancing anxiously at the fist wrapped around Grant’s collar. The two toons froze at the sight of so many people, and he can see nervousness enter the Alice toon’s eyes, uncertainty, maybe even a little fear. He really hoped that didn’t make them do something hasty.

          “Whoa, watch where ya swing that thing!” Wally shouted, hands flying up at the sight of a sword being leveled his way, “Norman, what’s goin’ on? Why’s Alice got a _sword?!”_

          Several similar inquiries rose up from the gathering crowd, agitation and nervousness growing, and Norman felt with increasing alarm that that was the opposite of what they wanted if they wanted to keep this under control here.

          “I don’t know, Wally, but I aim to find out,” Norman softly said to the other man. Then, boldly, maybe a bit too boldly, he took a single step forward.

          He couldn’t stop a flinch as the sword whisked to him next, and the Boris that couldn’t possibly be _their_ Boris growling none too encouragingly. Behind him, people started shouting, going up-in-arms, and its only his waving hand that stilled them.

          “Okay, look,” he said, hoping that leveling with them would stop them from doing anything rash, “I don’t know what’s goin’ on, and frankly, I can figure that out later. But right now, I’m gonna need you to calm down and let that man you’re rough-handlin’ go.”

          Neither of the two so much as break his stare, but the Alice one lowers her weapon just a smidge, eyes softening the barest touch, but answering with a voice that was very, very different from the high, lilting tone he knew, “. . . we don’t know you. How do we know we can trust you?”

          Ah . . . so these two really weren’t the ones the studio knew. It gave him a strange sense of relief at the case.

          Still, that fact presented its own unique questions. Like how the hell did they even get here? Did Joey just decide to create new ones? For some reason, Norman couldn’t believe that. Not now, not out of the blue like this. But the real answer worried him.

          “You’re just gonna have to,” he responded, keeping his voice calm and clear, “Now let our friend go.”

          The Boris look-alike growled disapprovingly, and behind him, several people gasped.

          “Whoa, Boris, buddy, what's got you're tail in a twist?” Wally asked, evidently not having put the pieces together very well, “And whaddya mean ya don’t know who we are, Alice? We’ve worked together for years!”

           At that, the other toon curled her lips in distaste, “My name’s not Alice.”

           More muttering, concern, confusion, and the two in front of him fidget nervously, warily. He’s figuring out how best to keep this situation from spinning out of control, when the sound of approaching footsteps grabbed his attention. There, down the hall, two shapes burst into view, running for them at full speed.

          Norman’s breathe all but leaves him when he sees that its Henry and Joey. Both look ragged, tired, more so than he’s ever seen, though. Its worrying. On top of everything else.

          Ahead of them, Norman can see Joey’s face go pale when he finally realized who was standing there, a mix of realization and dread clouding his features as he began to wave his arms in the air, shouting, “No no NO, we’re _closed,_ the studio is CLOSED, everybody go back home!”

          At the same time, Henry came to the more belligerent toons’ sides, grabbing the wolf by his restraining arm and saying, “Tom, let him go! Al, drop the sword! They’re employees!”

          There’s a moment of shared hesitation, but both seem to come to the conclusion that holding a hostage won’t win them any favors in light of these circumstances, and with a last warning growl, the wolf finally let go.

          Grant stumbled away, rubbing at his collar with a shaky hand as he put some distance between himself and the toons. But aside from being shaken, he thankfully looked unhurt.

          He’s glad they released him. But through that interaction, it had become clear that Joey and Henry clearly knew what was going on, and now it was time to fess up.

          “Alright, so do you want to start explainin’ what the hell this is?” he demanded, nodding his head to the pair who had harassed their head accountant.

          Joey held up a hand, forcing a smile that was a bit too big onto his face as he stuttered, “A-ah, w-well, funny-uh, _funny story, that!_ And it’s a story I will be, uh, happy to tell in _the future!_ So, if everyone will just please-!”

          Protests rang out at his demand.

          “Ya can’t just sweep us out after this, Joey!”

          “What happened here? Who’re _they?”_

          “We deserve an explanation!”

          “How’d ya mess the place up so bad, I JUST _cleaned it!”_

          The man waved them all down, smile frazzled and thin but still trying to placate, “Now everyone, please-!”

          Norman just rolled his eyes at the deflecting and instead turned to the other one with inside knowledge into this mess, and the person they _should_ be asking these questions too, “Henry, what is this? What’ve you all been doin’ in here while we were gone?”

          The man started much harder than Norman would have thought at being addressed so directly, eyes going wide as he stared back at him, “U-um . . .”

          There’s a strange emotion in the man’s eyes, something Norman would almost say was vulnerable, like Henry is seeing him for the first time in a long time, though that couldn’t be possible. But his puzzlement there is soon overshadowed when he began to notice other things. Stranger things. Like how dark Henry’s eyes were, more black than brown, and in the light, his skin looked . . . _gray._ And not the typical ‘I’ve-fallen-in-the-ink-gray’, either, but like its his actual skin color.

          What the . . .?

          But before he can put that to the question, the other’s have begun to pile their questions to the man as well.

           “Henry, what’d Joey do this time?”

           “Who’re the new guys? Did ya just decide to make more toons?”

           “Why does she have a _sword?”_

          “What happened to the studio, Henry?”

           This outcome isn’t unusual, either. Whenever Joey was acting suspicious or odd, you go to Henry. That’s just the way of the studio. What _is_ unusual is the way the man’s eyes dart from face to face like he could barely keep up with their questions, paling and looking overwhelmed, even physically taking a step away like he’s being physically buffeted by their voices. Its something the older folk of the studio notice quickly.

           And, as they do, they ask.

          “Hey, you alright, Henry?”

          “What’s the matter?”

          “Gee, you ain’t lookin’ too good . . .”   

          “Did something happen?”

          “What’s wrong, buddy? Yer lookin’ like ya seen a ghost or somethin’!”

          It’s already looking bad enough, but Wally’s innocent comment seemed to strike Henry like a blow. With a hard, stuttering inhale like he’s suddenly forgotten how to breathe, the man sharply turned away, one hand going to his head while the other gripped the wall for support. The Alice toon took a concerned step towards him, a hand hovering over his shoulder, whispering to him, while the wolf took one glance back before taking a threatening step towards all of them, teeth bared.

          The questions ceased, concerned murmuring filling its place. Norman himself is worried too, yeah, but he can’t help but keep looking at the other’s skin. What was going _on?_

          It’s then Joey dove between the opposing parties, holding up his hands, looking at Norman pleadingly, “I know, I _know_ I have a lot to explain! And I _will,_ I promise! But please, everyone, I need you all to disperse for the moment, until . . . just a few moments. _Minutes!”_

          Norman huffed, “Joey, you can’t just-,”

          _“Please,_ Norman.”

          His mouth snapped shut, but its not the plea that silenced Norman. It’s the expression on Joey’s face. Desperate, grave, so very _serious_ , more than Norman has ever seen. Because Joey Drew is _never_ serious, not like this. His boss’ eyes keep straying back to Henry, who still hasn’t turned back around, shoulders shaking, and Norman felt a sudden spike of worry.

          But he’s beginning to understand why they might need a moment. Joey clearly had forgotten today was the day the studio was supposed to open again, and none of them were prepared to introduce these new toons, or . . . whatever was wrong with Henry.

          So, after a tight-lipped internal sigh, he relented, “Alright. You win. But I think we need to talk about this sooner than later.”

          Joey looked so sincerely relieved by that Norman almost felt a little bad for pressing as hard as he had, “Thank you. I _will_ explain, just . . . not right now.”

          Raising his voice, Joey addressed everyone else, “Please, everyone, as you can see, the studio still needs . . . work. Wally, I’d appreciate it if you could get started overseeing that!”

          The janitor groused a bit, “Yeah, yeah, yer the boss . . . but what about-?”

          Joey answered before he’d even finished, seeing the way the janitor’s eyes had begun to trail to Henry, “He’ll be alright, it’s just . . . been a long couple of days! Now, if you could all, erm, find yourself something to do! Perhaps . . . salvage any work you all left here, for the moment!”

          There’s a collective groan, but thankfully, after a few more minutes of concerned staring, people began to disperse, whispering amongst themselves. Beside him, Grant carefully picked his way forward until he could lean down and collect his folder, the corner of it stained black by the puddle it had nearly fallen into.

          Joey tapped his fingers together nervously, looking apologetic, “Erm, sorry about the less than pleasant welcome, Grant.”

          Grant only huffed, shooting the Boris clone a nervous look, “I don’t know when you got it in you’re head to make more toons, Joey, but they could stand to learn a few manners.”

          “He didn’t make us,” the Alice one said, sparing him a glance before returning her attention to Henry.

          That . . . was alarming in more ways than one. Because if Joey didn’t make these toons, then . . . what did?

          Joey laughed very nervously, clapping Grant on the shoulder, “Right, well, we’ll worry about that later! And we’ll go over the costs soon, I promise!”

          Grant wilted a bit, but relented with a sigh, turning away with his folder clasped to his chest. He glanced at Norman as he passed, exchanging with him a worried look, before departing back towards the stairwell that would take him to accounting.

          Now, only Norman was left.

          He looked to the trio just behind Joey, worry niggling away at his heart when he saw Henry. The man looked to be coming down from whatever attack had come over him, glancing at the Alice toon and hearing him softly whisper back to her, dropping his hand from his head. Until he looked back and caught Norman’s gaze, and something raw entered them again, though Norman couldn’t say for sure what it was as the man sharply broke the stare.

          It could have been pain. It could have been sadness. He’s really not sure which one would make him worry less.

          “Norman.”

          He looked back to Joey, who’s face was apologetic as he spoke, “Soon. I promise. Just, for now . . .”

          Norman sighed, understanding what he was getting at, “Right. Soon.”

          He spared the rest one last look. Then, he took his own leave, back into the studio.

          He’s not too entirely sure when Joey would be ‘ready’, but he knew the man to keep his word when he gave it, so Norman wasn’t overly concerned there. What he was concerned about was . . . well, literally everything else.

          God, he could use some coffee and a cigarette. . .

          He didn’t have any cigarettes on hand, but there was the studio watering hole. The coffee there wasn’t the best, true, but it did in a pinch. And he could really use it after all that.

          When he arrived, it’s to see with some relief that it was fairly clean and also empty. He’s not really in the mood to entertain people right now or fuel the gossip that was undoubtedly being spread. Wanting to just take a few minutes to himself, recollect his wired thoughts, try and sort through this mess logically.

          Brewing doesn’t take long, and soon, he was sitting down with a hot mug in his hand, knocking back a few swigs that burned his throat but at least distracted him from the now. With a satisfied sigh, Norman set it down, thinking over everything that had happened.

          There’s not much information to be gleaned from the events that had just taken place, other than there seemed to be new toons in the studio, Henry was looking a little grayer than usual, and whatever had happened had left one hell of a mess. But none of that really explained anything. Not the mess, not what they had been doing here, and . . .

          . . . and not the ominous marks he’d seen on the plaster in the animation department.

          The caginess with which Joey had spoken was worrying too. Normally, nothing fazed that man, not even his questionable hobbies. So to see him so rattled was . . . disconcerting. To put it mildly.

          It all made him feel like his worst suspicions were being confirmed. Something _serious_ had happened in the studio while they had been gone. Something very, _very_ serious.

          He hesitated to speculate what.

          Sighing deeply, Norman ran his hands over his face, wondering when the day had gone from so very promising to . . . this.

          For a few moments, he sat in quiet contemplation, mentally bracing himself for whatever was to come, when he soon became aware of approaching voices. Familiar voices.

          “-could really use a cup of ink right now.” Bendy. Sounding tired, a little sour over something.

          “I can agree with that.” Alice. The Alice _he_ knew, with her lilting voice and all.

          “Some food will be nice too.” Susie.

          “That sounds great!” came an enthusiastic agreement, from a more familiar, friendly Boris.

          Norman relaxed a little, finding their conversant voices comforting after all that. Although, he had to wonder if they were aware of what was going on.

          _Probably,_ he thought, _Wally said they’d been here too._

          Taking another swig of coffee, Norman prepared himself to greet the group, when another voice nearly made him gag.

          “If there are any croissants, they are mine.”

          Beating a hand on his chest, Norman looked up as figures appeared around the corner, searching for one in particular as the group before him froze.

          “Norman?!” several voices rang out, evidently not expecting him to be there any more than Joey had.

          But Norman has already singled out the person he was looking for, and though he immediately saw several things that brought immediate questions, for the moment, relief overwhelmed them all.

          “Sammy!"

          He expected several things in response. A quip, a hand-wave, or, if Sammy was feeling generous, maybe even a greeting. After all the worryin' everyone had gone through, a greeting would have been nice.

          So Norman is confused, then worried, when instead of any response he would expect . . .

          Sammy's expression of shock is suddenly wiped away by one of fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are they sure those faces are the ones they know from the past?


	4. A Voice Within, A Voice Without

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They say that two is company
> 
> And mostly, that phrase stands true
> 
> But sometimes its the opposite

Voice of

SAMMY LAWRENCE 

_Sometimes, I think this job is actually trying to kill me._

_I don’t know what it is, but it feels like the studio is following me home now._

_Every time I sleep, some song I’m working on is playing in my head. Every single night . . ._

_The ink’s been getting louder, too, it seems like. Doesn’t do much for my work, but that’s nothing new._

_What_ is _new is that . . . sometimes, it sounds a little different than before._

_I swear, sometimes it almost sounds like . . . like voices._

_. . . *sigh* come on, Sammy, now you’re starting to sound like Joey._

_. . . I need to get some sleep._

*

*

*

*

          To say things had been stressful would be the most colossal understatement this side of the stratosphere.

          Honestly, Sammy could _easily_ say this past week had been the worst week of his life. Worse than that one time he’d spent in Nevada, worse than when Bendy had first started his pranks, worse even than the time he’d spent as an actual ink man!

          And the worst part was, he couldn’t even say for sure it was over, because that, that, that _beast_ that had chased him was still in the studio!

          God, he knew Joey could be a reckless idiot with his ideas, but this took the fucking cake and then some!

          And that was to say _nothing_ of his _hitchhiker._

          Putting up with another’s voice in your head is already bad enough. Its quite a deal worse when you had to feel their _feelings,_ too. He’d been blessedly quiet after Gray Henry’s unpleasant reveal, but that didn’t say much when he felt constant pulses of hurt and paranoia every single minute.

          But the other was still _quiet,_ and he’d been hopeful that when he’d finally retired to the Quiet Room to sleep after Susie and Henry’s departure (he was quite tired of the infirmary, and Al and Tom hadn’t seemed too keen on company after everything that had happened), it would come at least somewhat quickly. Especially seeing as he was alone. The toons had their own rooms, and Joey had gone god knows where, but that might be for the best. After what happened last time . . .

He’d prefer to go home, of course, but he’d been cautioned against that right now, and for reasoning he had to begrudgingly accept. He’d just have to hope the lumpy couch cushions would serve.  

          Unfortunately for him, it turned out that a quiet, empty room to himself was the opposite of relaxing for a certain unwanted guest, and in fact made him quite . . . talkative.

          _Incessantly talkative._

And the only thing Sammy could do about it was lay there, staring at the ceiling through narrow, aggravated eyes, hands futilely clasped over his ears even though it did precisely _nothing_ to muffle the noise.

          **_-I don’t understand why he would take its side, after everything! The Demon has always been one to take what it wants, when it wants, what would this ritual change at all about-_**

“Be quiet.”

            ** _-and how can we trust Joey? What if this just placed the Demon under_ his _control, can make it do whatever he wants now. Its so easy to abuse that kind of power, and he would, he_ has-**

“Stop-,”

          **_-and there’d be nothing we could do about it, its too powerful! There’s no resisting it, there’s no rebellion-_**

 **** _“-talking.”_

          **_-fighting only makes it worse, it makes it worse, it_ makes it worse-**

Actual panic was beginning to bubble inside his gut, and partly because of that and partly because he was growing fed-up, Sammy growled and sat upright, swinging his legs of the side of the couch and frowning, “Okay, you need to shut the hell up and _calm down!”_

 _**The Demon’s still here!**_ Sam shouted, vibrating with a potent mix of anger and fear, **_And I know it bothers you too! You agreed with me!_**

And boy, was he paying the price for that decision. God, he wished he could dump this problem on another person, but everyone was either gone or asleep by now. Namely, he wished for the other Henry, who seemed to know what to say to keep this idiot from flying off the handle. But he wasn’t here, and after their _last_ conversation, he doubted Sam would want to hear it from him.

          “Yes. I did,” Sammy said through gritted teeth, tired and annoyed, “But there’s nothing I can _do_ about it now, is there. And I’m tired, so shut up and let me go to sleep!”

          For some reason, there’s a flare of anxiety at the word ‘sleep’, but Sammy ignored it, determined to get the rest he so definitely deserved at this point, annoying spirits and possible demons be damned. With a huff, he stubbornly lay back down on his side, arms crossed and mentally daring the other to start up again.

          Which he did. Joy.

          **_. . . how can you be so casual about this? I don’t understand . . ._**

There was truth in those words, Sammy could feel it. With a sigh, he ran a hand through his hair, still slightly damp from when he’d stuck his head under a faucet to wash the ink out, “Look, when you work at a studio like this, you get used to weird shit.”

          **_This is more than ‘weird’. . . this is_ dangerous.**

Sammy had to concede that point to the other, “Yes, I _know._ I don’t think that anyone’s happy about this. But Henry’s vouching for it, and Joey swears his ‘binding circle’, or whatever it’s called, will keep it from doing anything.”

          The other went quiet, and though he can feel an undercurrent of doubt, he doesn’t speak again. With a quiet sigh of relief, Sammy allowed his eyes to close and his body to relax, ready to just drift away and not think about anything for the time being.

**_. . . but what if it could?_ **

“Oh my _god-”_

          **_Even if it couldn’t move, it found ways to speak. To influence. How could a_ circle _stop that?_**

With a groan of profound annoyance, Sammy rubbed at his eyes and said with a tone rife with sarcasm, “Oh, and is it speaking to you now? Pray tell, what does it say?”

          **_I . . . it’s not speaking right now. But-!_**

“Then shut up and go to sleep!” Sammy snapped.

          Unfortunately, his words only seemed to agitate Sam.

          **_Sleep is when it was strongest before the studio collapsed! Every night, I’d see it in my dreams! Its not the haven you want it to be when it’s around!_**

Sammy’s brow furrowed together, an annoyed knit right between his eyes as he struggled to keep from shouting, “Well, guess I’ll just see for myself, won’t I? Because I’m _going to sleep.”_

          But the other is stubborn **_. . . it’s dangerous with it here._**

          With another long-suffering sigh, Sammy rolled onto his back, kneading a finger into his right temple, “Look, I don’t really care about your hang-ups. I just want you to shut up long enough that I can get some shut-eye.”

          More dread, more paranoia, writhing uncomfortably in his stomach, and Sammy frowned.

          All right, new plan.

          “Look,” he said, running a hand over his eyes as he fought to keep his voice level and a tiny smidge cordial, “I _get_ that sleeping isn’t so great when you’re made of ink. But this is my real, _human_ body, and it needs forty-winks every once in a while.”

          A sting of bitterness hit him then, settling sour on the back of his throat.

          **_Haha . . . you think you know what it was like there? That’s funny . . . and_ insulting _. . ._**

          Sammy can feel it, the dark rush in the back of his head where memories are starting to shift and stir, and he sat up again in a rush, “Oh no. No no no, we are _not_ doing that again!”

          It doesn’t stop it, of course, _couldn’t_ stop it, that tide of **_darkness_** and **_ink_** and **_misery,_** so Sammy does the only thing he can think to do; he forces his body to move and distract himself.

          Which, for him, rests with the radio.

          Its easy enough to turn on, and he doesn’t know what sorcery Joey had enacted on the innocuous device in the past, but something was always playing no matter what time of day or night it was. Which, for just this once, he was grateful for, because it gave him something to listen to outside of the voice in his head.

          But, to his surprise, as soon as the music flicked on and the smooth, jazzy voice of Cab Calloway started to echo in the spacious room around him, that heavy, brooding melancholy his counterpart was miring himself in suddenly . . . disappeared.

          All at once, Sammy felt himself be unexpectedly ousted from the driver’s seat, and his body, one that was no longer under his control, goes to lean against the table. His eyes are fixed on the radio, wide and staring, a quiet sense of wonderment and nostalgia wiping away the bitterness.

          “. . . I remember this song . . .” Sam murmured, wholly absorbed in listening to the music, all his previous complaints washed away in the melody. It was as close to _peaceful_ as the spirit had come since they’d first woken, just standing there listening, allowing himself to get swept along with the song as everything else faded to the background. He even started to hum along to it, stilted though it was, fumbling every now and then over half-remembered notes and rhythms, but he doesn’t seem to care. And even if their minds _weren’t_ intrinsically connected like they were, Sammy could tell that unless he did something, the other would have been content to stand there all night.

          So, after courteously allowing the song to come to an end (only because Sam was being mostly quiet as a result, and that was nice), Sammy eventually pushed outward, attempting to reassert control.

          Sam is reluctant to give it up, though, shaking his head as that now familiar numbness trickled through their fingertips, gripping the ledge of the table tightly, “Wait, _wait!_ Just . . . just one more song!”

          Sammy wanted to huff and roll his eyes.

          _It’ll be there in the morning. We need to go to sleep._

“But . . .” Sam’s eyes flicked to the radio again as another song started to play, “. . . it feels like it’s been so long since . . . since I’ve heard any of these . . .”

          He wasn’t fibbing, either. The memory of this kind of music is grainy, far-away, so distant it’s like there’s _years_ between then and now. The lyrics Sammy knew by heart were in broken bits and pieces for the other, their melodies faded, washed out, replaced by cartoon ditties and children’s tunes. It had been . . . a genuinely long time since his counterpart had heard them last.

          A genuinely long, long, _long_ time.

          “Just one more . . . please . . .”

          . . . he was really . . . well, the only word Sammy could think of was _desperate._ And maybe . . . _maybe_ understandably so . . . if it’s really been that long. Even the one that played now, a Billie Holiday song that has never really been his favorite, seemed dazzling to the other’s ears. Fresh, new, and so very wonderful . . .

          _. . . alright, how about this; if_ you _agree to quit yammering on about the Demon and Joey’s poor life decisions, then_ I’ll _leave the radio on. Can we agree on_ that, _at least?_

          The other cocked his head to the right, listening, processing Sammy’s offer with quiet thought for longer than he thought was necessary . . . until, gradually, he began to relax his hold on the table’s edge, “. . . alright. For now. Just for now . . .”

          Oh, praise be, that actually fucking _worked._

          Relived that this nonsense was finally over, Sammy wasted no time in taking back control, moving back to the couch once he had.

          And, thankfully, his annoying little hitchhiker kept his word. He didn’t bother him, attention focused instead on listening to the music that gently played nearby, and even though Sammy doesn’t ordinarily listen to the radio when falling asleep, it soon dragged them both under into a peaceful darkness.

_

          When Sammy next awoke, its to a loud _clang!_

          Alarm jolted every sense awake, along with the spirit inside him, and while both are equally bleary-eyed and confused, they also struggled for the reigns of control.

          A thing that does not work out very well for them, because as Sammy’s sitting up ready to fight if need be, Sam threw his own weight in on frantic impulse to flee, mucking up his control just enough that his legs went completely dead underneath him when he tried to stand.

           Which sent him crashing face-first to the floor, hitting the ground with a painful _thud!_

          Its in the lull afterwards as Sammy waits for the dizziness that came with that whiplash to pass that he heard someone speak.

          “Um, woops. Sorry for waking you up, Sammy.”

          Ah. Susie.

          Groaning, half-annoyed, half-pained, and still very sleep-fogged, he pushed himself up to his knees, rubbing his head as he looked up across the way.

          Susie was in the process of picking up a bowl, one she must have knocked over on accident, glancing his way while she worked and giving him an apologetic stare, “Shoot, sorry about that. Should have been paying more attention. Are you alright? You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?”

          “I’m not made of glass, Susie,” Sammy said, stifling a yawn as his heart slowed its panicked racing.

          The woman looked relieved, “Thank goodness for that. How’d you sleep?”

          Sammy frowned a little as he got back to his feet, trying to cover up his embarrassment by fixing the blankets he’d knocked askew when he’d woken up, “Fine, outside of a chatty houseguest. You?”

          “. . . well, I mean, I _slept._ And I guess it was better than it could have been,” Susie replied, though the dark rings under her eyes spoke louder. He didn’t get to call her out on it, though, as she fixed him with a scrutinizing look, tilting her head to the left as if analyzing a strange piece of architecture.

          “. . . what?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow at her behavior.

          She straightened, “Oh, just . . . checking. How’s um . . . how’s Sam?”

          There was a flicker within at the sound of his name, the other rousing in response like he wanted to reply to her, but at the same time, a strange guilt held him back. It always seemed to be there in regard to Susie, flaring up every time he saw her, **_should have done more, should have tried harder, shouldn’t have looked away . . ._**

          Sammy decided against rooting around for an answer to it. Better for both if they could keep _some_ boundaries, and besides . . . Sammy really doesn’t think he _wants_ to know, anyway.

          “He’s . . . alright. I guess,” he eventually replied, shrugging. Within, he felt his ‘guest’ shift around, but the urge to answer for himself died out almost as swiftly as it appeared.

          Susie gave him a small half-smile, tone lightening into something a little more teasing, “Getting along a little better?”

          “I wouldn’t say that,” Sammy said, frowning harder.

          “Ha, well, one can hope,” Susie said. Then, with more seriousness, she added, “Is it at least . . . a little easier, than before?”

           Sammy pursed his lips together, “Hm . . . if you mean easier as in ‘not fighting for the controls all the time’, then yes, I guess so.”

           She nodded, looking pleased enough with that, “Well, can’t expect you both to get the hang of it overnight! But I’m glad it’s better than before . . .” she smiled a little, one that was fond, “And I’m glad to see you acting more like yourself, Sammy.”

           Sammy made a show of rolling his eyes, “Because I’d act any other way.”

           “Right. Silly me.”

           Its then there’s a knock on the door, and both humans turn their heads as it opened and a small figure stepped inside.

           “Susie? Is-oh!” Alice started upright when she saw Sammy, nudging the door open further as she looked him over with a worried gaze, “Sammy. Are you feeling alright today?”

           Sammy shifted on the spot, trying to ignore the sudden restlessness of the spirit inside him. Sam had . . . very mixed feelings in regard to Alice. On one hand, Alice was Alice and generally speaking very sweet, provided you hadn’t irked her. And she’d been very understanding and helpful when they’d woken, even tried to talk to Sam through him, because she believed he needed some comforting words too and she was nice like that, even if _he_ thought she was being a bit ridiculous. And her kindness must have come through even to his counterpart. 

            But on the other . . .

           On the other, it’s a twisted smile and a crooked halo, laughter that chased him in the ink-stained halls just as surely as the _s **c** r **e** a **ms.**_

            Sammy shook his head, banishing the thoughts hurriedly. This is perhaps the part he hated most about sharing the other’s memories. Just . . . how Alice could turn into something like . . . like _that_ . . . it just boggled his mind. Horrified him, a little.

           Hell, even the other one was more on-model than _that . . ._ and she _stabbed_ things! Not even getting into the fact that there’s _two_ of them there, for some reason . . .

           . . . but yeah.

           Mixed feelings.

           Outwardly, he made a show of crossing his arms to hide the discomfort that’s suddenly overcome him, looking away, “I’m fine, you can all stop asking me that.”

           The silence he received in return told him they both were exchanging glances at his expense, and he huffed, “Anyway, what’s the word? Anything?”

           Susie is the one who answered, “Um . . . not really. Not yet. But we were going to get some breakfast first before tackling that, though. Recharge. Would the imperious music director like to join us?”

           She’s using that teasing tone of voice, but he can see that she wanted him to say yes, as did Alice. Whether it was for the ‘pleasure’ of his company, or just to keep an eye on him, remained to be seen. He’d bet the latter, though.

           But some _food . . ._

           Thinking about it brings to his attention just how hollow his stomach felt, how _hungry_ he was. He hasn’t eaten anything in quite a while, and frankly, just about anything was sounding great.

            Then, because things can’t just be simple for him, his hitchhiker tuned back into the conversation and proceeded to have a very sudden realization as to what he was talking about. And then, because he was an asshole, completely booted Sammy from the steering wheel with a surge of excited adrenaline.

_“Are there any croissants!?”_

           Silence answered him, the two across from them staring in mystified wonder, while internally, Sammy seethed on anger and embarrassment in equal measure.

           “Um . . . there might be?” Alice supplied, staring at him.

            But Susie, who could be rather unnaturally keen when she wanted to be, narrowed her eyes suspiciously and asked, “Sam?”

            Sam froze, evidently not having realized or just flat out forgetting who was standing in front of him, before just as suddenly retreating back into their shared mental space, allowing Sammy to take the reins again. Which he did, quickly.

            Heaving an irritated sigh and running a hand through his hair, he said, “Not anymore . . .”

           “Oh . . .” Susie said, and she looked a little disappointed by that, “Again, huh? He did that the last time I tried to talk to him, too.”

           Which was true. As soon as Susie had spoken to him after his outburst with Joey, he had upped and vanished so quickly Sammy had nearly toppled before he could take over. With that same guilty sting. He didn’t ask why for back then. He’s not going to ask now.

           “Is he okay?” Alice asked, looking a little concerned now.

           Sammy grunted, “Who knows.”

           Susie gave a sudden snort, a sound that draws her looks, and she waved her hand at him, smiling with an amused sparkle in her eyes, “If I had to guess, I’d say he’s hungry!”

           Sammy rolled his eyes, while inside he felt a flicker of embarrassment that wasn’t necessarily his own.

           Alice smiled a little, looking hopeful, “Will you eat with us, then?”

           He sighed, long and deep, but finally relented, “Fine.”

           Both girls grinned, looking cheered by his agreeance. Then, Susie started, “Oh! By the way, Sammy . . . I, uh, hope you don’t mind, but Henry brought up a good point after we left the hospital, so we went to your house last night-,”

           “My _house?_ What were you doing at my house?” he questioned, probing.

           “For a good cause!” she said, holding up her hands. She then pointed at the table, to a set of clothes laying there.

           Sammy stared at them, recognizing the pattern on one shirt almost immediately, and slowly, very slowly, asked, “. . . how did you get into my house?”

           At that, Susie just grinned way too brightly, grabbed a startled Alice by the shoulders, and steered them both out the door with an overly cheery, “Hope you like the clothes, Sammy! We’ll go look for any other breakfast-takers! _Au revoir!”_

            Aaand just like that, she was gone. Taking her answers with her. Worrying.

            Still . . .

            Reaching down, he plucked the clothes off the table and held them in his hands. They were fresh and clean, untouched by any stains. Excellent.

            Within, there’s another stirring, one that almost felt like envy, **_hm . . . they really do care about you._**

            “Shut up,” Sammy said, still annoyed with the other’s earlier outburst, “And for fuck’s sake, don’t just _yell_ out things like that! I have a reputation to uphold!”

 ** _I . . ._** there was a pause, like the other was debating whether or not to speak at all, before finally continuing, a flush of embarrassment lighting up his core, ** _I got . . . excited. I haven’t eaten_ food _in . . . in a long time._**

            Sammy frowned a little at that, “Really?”

**_Well . . . there was bacon soup . . . but . . ._ **

             His frown deepened, and he was about to comment on the genuinely terrible thing that _that_ was, when his mind is bombarded by another memory. That s _ame hor **rid** **soup,** **never** **tasting of anything but the ink around him. Sharp and viscous and so, so**_ **cold, _always . . ._**

            Sammy swallowed as it faded, almost feeling like he could taste the vile stuff in the back of his own throat. His counterpart doesn’t speak, withdrawn again, and its quiet both outside and in.

            Finally, Sammy took a breath and dropped the bundle he held, “Right, well, my statement still stands. And you better not be like this while I’m eating, or I _swear . . .”_

            But, as he’s getting dressed, Sammy can’t help but think about breakfast, before grumbling irritably, “God damn it, now I want a damn croissant . . .”

_  
          Reconvening with Susie and Alice isn’t hard, as by the time he left (feeling cleaner for the first time in _days_ ) they were heading to the studio breakroom. Although, they did have two others in tow with them.

          Boris was a welcome sight, and the wolf was quite happy to see him, as he usually was with anyone. However . . .

          Bendy . . . was also there.

          And needless to say, they both froze when they caught sight of each other.

          There’s that tell-tale stab of distrust and aggression from within, but thankfully nothing like before. He wanted to hope that meant the other was beginning to understand that, while a nuisance, the toon wasn’t dangerous. Still, Sammy is very acutely aware of what happened the last time they saw each other, remembers it _vividly._

          He imagined that Bendy did too.

          There’s several seconds of awkward, uncomfortable silence, where the toon rubbed the back of his head and Sammy folded his arms over his chest, neither quite looking each other in the eye.

          Its Bendy who broke it first, trying to keep his voice light, but it just came across as strained, “Um . . . so . . . how ya feelin’ Sammy?”

          “. . . fine,” he responded stiltedly.

          Bendy nodded, “Oh. That’s . . . that’s good.”

           Silence again, just as uncomfortable as before, where they just stand around avoiding looks while the other two toons watched in worry. Thankfully, Susie swooped in to save them from this awkward small talk, “Weeell, now that we’re all together, let’s go get some food into our systems! And some caffeine!”

           Everyone jumped onto that, and though he didn’t express it, he’s greatly relieved for the distraction.

           Now, he’s a reasonable adult. And . . . he knew he couldn’t just leave things between himself and his head boss as they were.

           But he has a very hard time being sincere, especially with someone who aggravates him so much so regularly, and while he knows an apology might be good, he’s . . . a bit too prideful for that. At least, in front of so many people.

 _Ah, it shouldn’t even be me apologizing,_ he groused, I’m _not the one who kicked him!_

            There’s a sense of refused acknowledgment towards that, and Sammy just rolled his eyes in reply.

            The rest make small talk along the way, mostly along the subject of food, but there’s a soft tension in the air that hangs over them all. It doesn’t take a genius to know that they’re all tiptoeing around the giant elephant in the room. Not that he could blame them. Even if the ‘Demon’ was contained, the halls still felt eerily creepy just knowing it was present. And no one had seen Joey or their new ‘guests’, so there was no one to ask about what to do, or where they would go from here.

          But those . . . would probably be topics better discussed with a full stomach. And, hopefully, nothing unpleasant would happen before then.

           At least, so he had hoped. But because he’s Sammy Lawrence, that is not what happened.

           He just got done staking his claim on any croissants in the area when they had rounded the corner into the breakroom, when a choked noise made all of them look. And stop. And _stare._

           Because, for some unnamed and unknown reason, _Norman Polk_ was inside the building!

           Several emotions go through Sammy in a moment. Shock, for sure, because he wasn’t to be here. Uncertainty, because what the hell are any of them going to say? Concern, because if he was here then who _else_ was in the building? And, lastly but not unimportantly, was something close to glad.

           Had things played out differently, the possibility had been very real it might have come to pass Sammy wouldn’t have seen him-or anyone-at all again. A feeling he'd been acutely aware of when he'd seen Susie and the others after waking.

           Below that, though, he can feel another swell of emotion, for Sam has recognized who it is as well, _remembers,_ and he’s . . . sad? Nervous? It was hard to tell.

           But then, Norman spoke, “Sammy!”

           There’s nothing wrong with the way Norman said it. He sounds relieved, _happy_ even. Normal people responses. Something that doesn’t bother _Sammy,_ per say.

           But to another, it hit with all the force of a freight train, every mental thought screeching to a sudden, jarring halt.

**_H-his voice . . ._ **

           Before Sammy could tamp down on this sudden, startling upheaval in his own head, his mind was suddenly filled with memory. Memory that’s similar to his own because he’s seen it so many times before himself, of the band in full swing, distant laughter, a comment to his side, Polk’s words light and airy, _thi **nk** t **his’** ll me **et t** he **boss’ stand** ards, **Sam?**_

**_T-there’s no way._ **

          Sammy’s vision skittered again as the breakroom suddenly seemed to dissolve, right before the world is broken up in scratchy static, black and white and _searing,_ but not as much as the terrible light that assailed his mind’s eye, cutting through the shadows, the briefest hiss of steam cutting through the quiet before all is smothered beneath the most horrible, hair-raising _screech_ he’s ever heard. And in that screech, he almost thought heard Norman’s voice again. A voice that’s filled with a terrible _rage._

 **_It can’t be_ ** **his _voice . . . it can’t be . . ._**

          It felt like his chest was seizing, horror choking his throat, terror squeezing his heart in a vice, and he hadn’t even noticed his body had begun to quake until voices cut through the smog of fear that has settled over his mind.

          “Sammy?”

          “What happened!?”

          “W-what’s wrong?”

          “H-hey, Norman, back up a minute-!”  

          “What the hell’s happening? What’s wrong with him?! Sammy-?”

          The haze lifted, for just a moment, and a familiar shape came towards him, with a face full of concern and alarm. And Sammy _knows_ who it is, he _knows_ its just Norman, this reaction was _ridiculous!_

          But even still, that logic isn’t reaching his counterpart. And that logic ended up failing him, too, when Norman reached out to help in some way, but instead the man’s visage stuttered like a broken screen and . . . and something else was reaching for him in his place.

          Something tall and towering, with amalgamated tubes protruding from an ink-black hide, a bright light emanating from a singular point on its face, a metal monstrosity of reels and wires and rage.

          Sammy doesn’t even realize control isn’t his anymore until his body is knocking that reaching arm away, turning around and _bolting._

          He heard people calling after him, but his focus is only half-aware of it. Mostly, he’s focusing on trying to regain control from his irrationally frantic counterpart.

          But it’s so much harder to do, it seemed. Much as he’s trying to focus, that same fear has hazed over everything, a thick, turgid bog that’s difficult to maneuver through, and that _vision_ . . . he doesn’t know what it means, just that it had been horrifying and that it was driving Sam to fits. But the other’s grip on his body is as hard as steel, utterly refusing to let go, **_it can’t be, it can’t be, it_ can’t _be-!_**

Sammy is desperately trying not to get completely lost in the torrent of other’s fear, trying to get words out, thoughts, _whatever,_ to get him to calm down and _relax,_ when they turned a corner and careened right into another body.

          It nearly sends them toppling, but he caught himself at the last moment, Sam whipping around to look for whoever it was they had run into.

          And found . . . a person.

          Sammy recognized them too. A band member, their pianist, a guy who shouldn’t be here, but _was,_ and he could _not_ have run into him at a worse time! And Sam was still freaking out, already in the process of backing away from them.

          _I swear to god, would you just_ calm down-!

          “Ow, Christ . . .” the man on the floor groaned, sitting upright and looking around with offended eyes. But when he saw Sammy, he started upright, yelling, “Jesus, Sammy, is that you? The hell happened to ya?”

          But before Sammy could even try to wrest control back and explain, movement down the hall grabbed all of their attention.

          People. A good chunk of them, all drawn by the noise.

          Sam’s heart quickened with alarm, and Sammy desperately tried to push back out through the iron lock the other had placed on his body, _damn it, let me_ out _so I can take care of this-!_

          But it doesn’t seem like the other is listening at all, and alarm switches to panic as the group began to cluster around him, faces searching, puzzled and worried and a few even concerned, questions beginning to fall as surely as rain.

          “Hey, if it ain’t our music director! Where the hell ya been?”

          “What’s wrong with his eye?”

          “Is he alright?”

          “Yo, Sammy, you home?”

          They were pressing in closer, their voices piling on top of one another, and for a horrible moment, its seemed like all their eyes were suddenly a shocking yellow, black dripping from once-clean skin, cl _amo **rin** g for **his** **atten** tion, **pl** ea **se,** p **romis** e **we’ll be saved, promise we’ll be free,**_ **promise _us, Prophet!_**

          **_I left them . . ._**

          “I-I’m sorry . . .” his mouth mumbled, so lost in memory that neither of them can see the people for who they really were, “I-I didn’t mean to lead you astray, I didn’t know he was a _liar-!”_

          “. . . um . . .”

          “What’s he _talking_ about?”

          “Did you hit your head or somethin’, Lawrence?”

           Another hand, reaching out, and voices, voices, **_too many voices,_** and Sam shot backwards fast, turning and shoving his way out from the steadily gathering crowd with wild desperation, bolting as soon as he was free.

           Everything passed in a blur, running and running until Sam grabbed at the handle of a door, flung it open, and went inside. A storage closet, small, dark, enclosed, **_safe, a sanctuary . . ._**

           No sooner has the other closed it did it seem a weight was lifted, and the other slid down the door like he couldn’t hold himself up anymore, hand still gripping the knob, panting.

           But finally, _finally,_ that unreasonable fear was fading as the dark settled in, those voices far away, until the only thing they could hear was Sam, “I didn’t know . . . I didn’t know . . . how did I forget . . .?”

          Finally feeling like he wasn’t about to get sucked into some frightening undertow, Sammy rose up, snapping, fuming, but thoughts still coming out far too shaken for his liking.

          _What. The hell. Was_ that?

          Sam flinched, feeling the breadth of Sammy’s anger closely. He let his breathing even out a little more before answering, “Voices . . . his voice . . . I-I’ve heard it before . . .”

          _What does that_ mean?! _Those were just people! That was just_ Norman! _You knew them before, didn’t you? So of_ course _you’ve heard them!_

Sam shook his head, “You don’t understand-,”

          Sammy cut him off, too angry to care, _what is there to understand?! You’re_ crazy! _That’s all there is to it!_

“No-,”

          _And now everyone’s going to think I’m crazy, too! I’ll be lucky if I have a reputation left at_ all _after this!_

_“Stop-!”_

          _God, of all the people I could have gotten stuck with, it had to be the delusional_ sycophant!

“THEY WERE IN THE STUDIO TOO!”

          Sammy stopped, a bit startled by the sudden surge of vitriol that hit him, tangling like briars through his soul, almost _painfully._ But it just as quickly faded, the man slumping back against the door, head bowed.

          Then, in the silence that followed, the other began to speak, “You call me a sycophant . . . and maybe that was true. I was the Prophet. I was a servant to a higher power, and I had a role. I was supposed to find the lost, and guide them. A shepherd to the sheep.”

          The man let his hand fall from the doorknob, curling his arms around his chest and leaning his head back against the wood, eyes staring up at nothing, “Down there, its hard for you to hold onto yourself. But those that still had their hearts, and weren’t consumed by another identity, I could hear them. And I’d find them, and bring them to the path of the salvation. That . . . was what I was meant to do.”

          Sammy would have frowned if he could have. He knows he should just cut the other off, end this stupid ‘discussion’ now.

          But some dark curiosity niggled at him incessantly, burrowing deep enough and hard enough to finally press him to ask, _and what does that have to do with your meltdown?_

          At that, the other took a breath, shaky as his mind filled with darker thoughts, “Their voices . . . I’ve heard them in my flock . . .”

          - ** _Empty, hollow eyes, filled with measureless unhappiness-_**

Sammy sees the figures Sam is imagining as if he were doing it himself, skinny, skeletal, covered in ink . . . and he gave a start when he realized he recognized their shapes. When he’d been inside that horrible place, he and Henry had . . . had passed them by . . .

          Lost Ones . . .

          Except now, those poor, pathetic creatures had _voices._ Voices Sammy recognized as the ones they had just heard. And it’s not much longer that nausea began to set in.

          _Oh my god . . ._

          But Sam wasn’t done, “And Norman . . .”

          **_A towering darkness, grinding gears and static wires and clicking reels, the world washed out by radiance as something powerful and_ angry _descended on him . . ._**

But now there’s voice inside that one too, inside this unfamiliar monstrosity he had been lucky enough to avoid. A familiar voice. A friendly voice . . . contorted into something scary by a violent and all-consuming need for _vengeance_. . .

          And as the pieces slid into place, and the realization finally took hold, the only thing that Sammy could feel in his heart was _horror._

          _Are you . . . are you trying to say that_ that _. . . that’s . . ._

          The other shivered, “I didn’t know. I _swear_ I didn’t know . . .”

          But now he does. Now they _both_ do.

          And Sammy wished he didn’t.

. . . he knew he should take control and make an appearance. God knows how worried Susie and the rest have gotten. And Norman . . . god, how was he even going to _talk_ to him now, knowing what he knew? Damn it . . .

          This was just . . . way too much.

          And then, because he couldn’t even have a few minutes, the door behind them suddenly opened and he was dropping backwards, falling gracelessly onto his back.

          “Ouch,” he growled, knocked back into the reins, a development he’s fine with.

          Then he opened his eyes, and saw another face staring back down at him with the most perplexed expression he’s ever seen.

          And, after a moment, a mystified Wally Franks spoke.

          “Sammy?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And sometimes, it hurts too.


	5. This Job Don't Pay Enough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He's cleaned this place from top to bottom, he knows damn near every face
> 
> He does his job with a smile, and sometimes with grace
> 
> But he does got one thing to say to all those who are near

Voice of

WALLY FRANKS

_Ya know, I’m startin’ to get tha feelin’ that things ain’t so hunky-dory anymore._

_Dunno if its just me, but everyone’s been actin’ a bit weird around here. Weirder!_

_And no one’s cleanin’ up after themselves, it seems like! After Ms. Campbell left, it’s like everyone stopped tryin’!_

_Then a whole lotta other people started leavin’ too! First Grant, then Norman . . . even Shawn left without sayin’ anythin’!_

_Ah, well, probably just found better jobs! Can’t say I blame ‘em, what with all the cuts Joey keeps makin’!_

_I swear, if I find myself on the end of another pay cut, I’m outta here!_

*

*

*

*

          Now, for working at a place filled with magic and demons, Wally liked to consider himself a pretty laidback sort of guy. Ink spill? No problem. Someone set a trashcan on fire? Easy. Entire studio flooded? A bit much, but hey, he ain’t the best janitor in this place for nothing!

          Now, twice in as many days? That’s pushing it.

          Honestly, it’d be impressive how fast the boss and them wrecked the place again if _he_ wasn’t the one stuck with cleaning it all. But now here he was, grumbling to himself as he started looking for cleaning supplies and where best to start this new job. He better be gettin’ a big, hefty bonus on his next paycheck for this, or else he’d make like a Sammy and leave.

           Or vanish? Nobody really seemed to know, but he’s never been one to conspirize or theorize or none of then big fancy words. More likely, the guy just had one ink spill too many and left. And while a ‘goodbye’ woulda been nice, nice has never really been Sammy’s style, so it didn’t surprise him. Sides, Wally’s never been one to dwell on the dark side of things.

          What he _is_ going to dwell on is the fact that he’s gotta clean the whole place up again! Seriously, he knew he was the janitor, but even he’s got better things to do with his day than cleanin’ the same thing _twice!_

          Nothin’ to be done for it, though. Best to just get on it with it and hope it wouldn’t be too bad this time around. Maybe get a couple of the other workers to stop oohin’ and awin’ over what everyone was sayin’ were ‘claw marks’, or something like that, and get them helpin’. Gonna be a pain to fix, that’s what.

          Although, a tiny part of him does have to admit its a little off-putting when he found more of those marks in the hallways. Oh boy . . .

          A cursory assessment told him that this mess wasn’t . . . necessarily going to be easy to clean, too. The ink seemed tenfold compared to last time. Not to mention that it was also unnaturally thick and viscous and honestly a little gross. Now, he’s a janitor, so he’s dealt with gross before, but that doesn’t really mean he liked it. Not to mention that the congealed nature of the ink would make it harder to clean, and that wasn’t even getting into all the damage that had been done to the animation department. He’d managed to get some of the others working on straightening out some of the cubicles and stuff, but he was definitely going to need his whole crew for this, absolutely. And, after a couple aggravated phone calls, seemed most would be able to pitch in today.

          And, once that was done, Wally decided he might as well get started.

          . . . hefty. Paycheck. That’s all he’s saying.

          _Better break out some of the big guns fer this . . ._ he thought, making his way to the place where he kept his more heavy-duty cleaning implements, snapping on his favorite pair of rubber gloves and already setting up a game plan in his mind. Gonna take a lot of elbow grease, that was for sure.

          Course, this is Hell’s Studio. And things ain’t ever as simple as that.

          A fact he’s rather suddenly reminded of when he opened up the door and a _body_ fell out into the hallway right at his feet. Wally’s torn a hairs breadth between screaming and being angry that someone had infiltrated his closet until he noticed that it was a familiar body. With a familiar face, one that’s staring up at him in surprise from their place on the floor, and the only thing Wally can really think to do in response was stare right back, mouth ajar and eyes wide.

          “Sammy?”

          Cause it _is_ Sammy. Somehow, someway, hiding inside one of his utility closets (?), though from the looks of things, he’d seen better days. The guy looked a _mess_ , hair unusually unkempt, bruises dotting his skin, ink smeared over his face, and . . . wait, what was wrong with his eye?

          Before he could look any further, though, the other man was scrambling upright, retaking his feet with his back turned to the janitor. A hand was against his head, like he’s got some sort of bad headache goin’ on, but the growling snarl he received in reply was definitely what Wally had come to expect more often than not from the man, “Go _away_ , Franks.”

          “The hell happened to ya? What’re ya doin’ in the closet?” he couldn’t stop himself from asking, still a bit in shock from the fact that the guy who’d been missing for several days now just _dropped_ out his closet. Then, with a sudden note of suspicion, he inquired with a frown, “. . . were you in there the whole time, Sammy?”

          The man’s shoulders tense at the use of his name, and out of the blue, he started muttering, “No, no voice, never heard his voice, he left his keys, he couldn’t be there, he had to have left, he left, he _left_. . .”

          Wally stared, previous sourness dissipating in favor of pure bewilderment, “Uh, what-?”

          He jumped when Sammy then slammed the side of a fist into the wall, grinding out furiously, “Shut _up,_ you idiot!”

          After another moment of quiet staring, Wally began to slowly nod, “. . . ooo- _kay,_ so, uh, I’m just gonna start backin’ up now, you uh, wait right here, I-I’ll go find Ms. Susie or Norman or-,”

          Wally maybe makes it about a foot before Sammy suddenly rounded on him, springing forward and grabbing him by the shoulders, yelling, “NO, not him, _not him!”_

          Now Wally could see clearly the strange, golden iris in the man’s left eye, more than a little weird for this studio’s standards, burning brightly in the black that seems to have swallowed the rest of the man’s eye. But somehow, the thing that caught him off guard even more than that was how genuinely _panicked_ Sammy suddenly looked, as if Wally couldn’t have suggested anything worse, and if he wasn’t freaking out before, he sure was now, “Hey, hey, HEY, what the hell’s tha matter with ya?!”

          Wally isn’t even done yelling back, however, when the light inside that eye dimmed and opened wide, before suddenly the fingers that were digging into his shoulders let go. Wally stumbled back a bit, now more than a little wary, but Sammy didn’t seem to be gearing up to jump at him again. Instead, one hand went up to cradle that unusual eye, the panic gone and looking annoyed and bothered in equal measure, “Damn it . . .”

          Wally just kind of stood there, not sure what to do and more than a little disturbed by the way the other man was acting. Had he just . . . finally snapped after all these years? It sure looked that way, and the thought settled rather uncomfortably in his stomach. He really should go get some help from someone who’d know what to do (and maybe call a therapist while they were at it) but he didn’t know if moving would trigger another attack like before.

          Geez, this was so far above his paygrade . . .

          “Uh . . .” he started, glancing around as if to find some sort of clue as to what he was supposed to do right now.

          Sammy openly cringed again, taking a step away from him and holding up his other hand, “Just _go!_ And don’t go blabbing to people where I am, not right now!”

          Well, there’s an out if ever there’s been one. But Wally found his eyes narrowing, almost disbelieving, “What? People have been lookin’ everywhere for you for _days_ now, and yer seriously tellin’ me to keep my trap shut after all that?!”

          Sammy scowled with his one uncovered eye, “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m telling you to do, so _do it!”_

          “But Ms. Susie’s been worried sick about ya!”

          “Susie knows I’m here, now _scram!”_

          “Does she know yer hidin’ in a closet and actin’ like a bonafide nutjob?” Wally asked, truly not quite able to believe that this was happening to him. _Why_ couldn’t it have been someone else?

          Sammy just glared at him, when he suddenly winced hard and brought his other hand up to his head like he’s dealin’ with the world’s worst hangover, mumbling again, “God damn it, would you _stop.”_

          Wally cocked an eyebrow as some of his annoyance diminished just a little, disturbed for sure, but also beginning to grow a little . . . concerned. Sammy’s never exactly been his favorite guy at the studio, sure, but even he can see that the man is a lot more distressed than he’s ever seen him before, and that was probably a _really_ bad thing.

          “Are you, uh . . . you sure you don’t want me gettin’ someone? You ain’t lookin’ too good,” he finally said, brow furrowing.

          This time there isn’t a response at all, like the man hadn’t even heard him, face paler than a ghost. Wally’s of half-a-mind to just go get help anyway, regardless of what the other said, because this is so far out of line with what he had come to expect of the music director that’s its genuinely worrying.

          He knows utterin’ the name of the Lord is a little blasphemous considering where he was, but if ever there was a time for divine intervention for some help, now would be it.

          Then, with all the timely grace of an angel, a familiar voice shouted from down the hall, _“Sammy!”_

          Wally could have collapsed to the floor in relief when he saw Ms. Susie running towards them, an anxious Alice in tow. Now _there_ was someone who could help!

          Sammy didn’t seem too thrilled by it though, flinching and reflexively taking a step back towards the closet as if to hide or somethin’, which . . . isn’t really a Sammy thing to do in _general,_ let alone with Ms. Susie, so that’s even more concerning.

          But he seemed to know that there was no point in running either, and finally sighed and dropped his hands just as the two came up to him.

          “Sammy? Sammy, are you okay?” Alice asked him softly, looking so very worried, to the point where he felt a little bad for her, “And Sam?”

          Sammy looked like he was about to answer her, when his eyes strayed over her head to look at Wally before clamping it shut again, shaking his head. Susie then turned to him, and the poor woman looked frazzled and exhausted even through the smile she put on her face, “Wally, thank you for finding him, but we can take it from here, okay?”

          “U-uh . . . sure, Ms. Susie,” he replied, still a bit discombobulated after all that. However, he found himself glancing at the man half-hidden in the closet, unwilling to leave the two alone with the seemingly unhinged man, “But, uh, you sure you don’t want me gettin’ anyone else? Sammy’s a little . . .”

          He tried to discreetly twirl a finger near his temple so only Susie could see, but the growl nearby told him he hadn’t been as sneaky as he thought.

          Susie just sighed, “There’s a lot going on right now, Wally, just . . . a lot. We can take care of this, but please, try and keep quiet for now.”

          She must see the hesitance on his face, because she continued, “There’s . . . a _lot_ that needs explaining, I know. And we will! But that’ll be for later, okay?”

          “We’ll be alright,” Alice added gently, turning just enough to look his way without breaking the hold she has on Sammy’s wrist, eyes earnest, “But if you want to help, could you maybe find Joey, and . . . just let him know where we are?”

          He heard Sammy mutter something to her, looking displeased, and she whispered something back, but by then, Susie had stepped in front of them, blocking his vision, “Please, Wally.”

          Her lips are turned into a small frown now, a plea in her eyes, and Wally knows a hint when he sees one. And besides, he knows Susie, and he’s seen her chase people off physically if she had to.

          Still, his shoulders sagged as he caved, frowning himself, “Alright, alright, I can take a hint. But, uh . . . ya know, don’t do anythin’ too crazy, yeah?”

          “We’ll be fine,” Susie promised him.

          “And, uh . . .” ooone last not-so-surreptitious glance Sammy’s way, “Ya _sure_ ya don’t want me gettin’ anyone else?”

          “Yes,” Susie said without hesitation.

          Wally sighed, seeing the adamant edge in the woman’s eyes and knowing that arguing was futile, “Alright, since ya seem so sure. But, uh, just give me a holler of ya do need somethin’, okay Ms. Susie?”

           The woman smiled again, just a little, and Wally took that to be a good thing as she spoke, “I’ll do that.”

          It’s not much longer before he’s reluctantly parting from the group, still uncomfortable after everything that had transpired. Jeez, first he comes back to find the studio a wreck, there was a bunch of weird and hostile new toons in the place, and now Sammy’s possibly cracked for good. This was certainly not how he had anticipated his day going. If he had, he woulda just stayed home!

          . . . aaaand he forgot to grab his cleaning supplies! Great!

          “Man, if Joey don’t pay me overtime for all this, I’m outta here!” he groused.

          Well, he guessed he should see to it that he at least delivered Alice’s message to Joey. Wherever the old coot was.

          Its not very long before passed by a group of his coworkers huddled around a surprisingly whole water cooler, and normally he wouldn’t pay ‘em much mind outside of a hello, but the closer he came to the group the more defined their words were, words that made him prick his ears to listen.

          “-said he ran into Sammy! After all this time!”

          “I heard he was actin’ strange, though. _Real_ strange.”

          “I heard someone say his eyes were glowing. I’d say poppycock, but this being the studio . . .”

          “Huh. Hey, do you think that might have any relation to what’s going on with the studio right now?”

          “Who knows. Joey said he’d talk to us soon, though.”

          “Well, he better give us some answers! I lost half a week’s work to this spill . . .”

          Wally refrained from making any comment. For all his misgivings about it, he’d promised Ms. Susie he’d say nothin’, and Wally Franks don’t go back on his promises. Still, he guessed he wasn’t the first person to run into old Sammy. Or see that . . . he wasn’t exactly doin’ too great.

 _Probably just one freak accident too many,_ he thought, carrying on, _probably just needs a few days outta this place, if Joey can’t do somethin’._

          Lost in thought as he is, he nearly bumped into a body that came rushing around the corner, only barely avoiding collision as they both jumped back. Lucky he wasn’t carryin’ anythin’, or that could have been messy. When he looked to see who had almost run into him, he can’t help but blink in surprise at who he saw.

          “Norman?” he started, pulling his cap back into place, “Why’re you runnin’ around like you lost yer head?”

          The man looked like he was only giving him half his attention, though, eyes wandering down the hall Wally had come from, searching, “R-right, sorry Wally, wasn’t payin’ attention. I just . . .”

          But Norman was already taking a few steps forward, mind clearly set on something and looking like stopping to apologize was the last thing he wanted to do as if he was eager to sprint ahead, and Wally can’t help but raise an eyebrow at the unusual behavior. Took a lot to make Norman act like this, being as level-headed as he was.

          Jeez, why was everyone actin’ so _looney_ today?

          “You alright, Norman? Yer actin’ as weird as Sa-,” Wally immediately slammed hand over his mouth, inwardly cursing his own stupid habit of runnin’ his mouth. Oh man, he hoped Norman didn’t catch that!

          No, nope, Norman definitely caught that, already turning back around and giving him one of his hard and scrutinizing stares. Wally tried not to visibly flinch under it, but got the feeling he didn’t succeed.

          “Franks, have you seen Sammy?” Norman definitely wasn’t beatin’ around the bush, that was for sure.

          Dropping his hand, Wally idly tapped his foot against the ground, trying to figure out where to place his arms as he floundered for words, “Uuh, no, no, can’t say I have! Ya know, everyone’s just been actin’ pretty crazy today, what with the studio and the mess and the toons and everythin’! Why, have, uh, have you?”

          Norman had his eyebrow raised in that disbelieving way he did when he knew someone was feeding him bullshit, face rigid and arms stolidly crossed before he finally replied, “If I said I had, would you drop the act and talk?”

          Yeah, there was no pullin’ the wool over Norman’s eyes with this, he could tell. Ooh, Susie was gonna kill him.

          Wally cringed, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly, “Okay, okay, look, _maaaybe_ I have, _maaaybe_ I haven’t, but if I _did,_ I promised not to say nothin’, okay!”

          Norman sighed, running a hand over his eyes, “Of course. Was it Susie?”

          Wally cocked an eyebrow at that, surprised, “How’d ya know?”

          He then immediately winced when he realized he’d given himself away again. Sometimes his mouth really did get him in trouble . . .

          Norman didn’t seem to realize or care though, sighing deeply again as he answered, “Ran into them by the break room. Sammy took off, but Boris and Bendy kept me from goin’ after him, and didn’t tell me what was goin’ on before they ran off too. Been runnin’ around lookin’ ever since.”

          “Oh . . .” Wally said, nodding and awkwardly looking at the wall by Norman’s head, “That, uh, that sounds rough. Sorry buddy.”

          Norman then looked up, frowning, “He wasn’t actin’ strange, was he?”

          Wally didn’t know how to answer that without diggin’ his grave even deeper, so settled for a tight-lipped ‘mmm’ and an awkward one-armed shrug.

          Norman ‘tsked’ softly, “Right. Well, he’s at least _with_ someone, right? He’s not by himself?”

          Wally pursed his lips together, crossing his arms and contemplatin’ if he’d gotten everything sorted on his will before finally giving a relenting nod, “Yeeeah, I mean, uh, if I did see him, which I’m not sayin’ I did . . . he might be with Susie and Alice right now.”

          Norman sighed again, this time with relief, “Good.”

          There’s a couple moments of awkward silence where the two just stand there, though Wally imagined most of it was from him. Man, he could not wait to go home today . . .

          Then, “. . . was he, um . . .”

          Wally tilted his head to one side, puzzled, “Was he . . . what?”

          Norman looked like he kinda regretted speaking, but seeming to realize that it was too late to go back, he slowly and somewhat stiltedly explained, “When you ran into Sammy . . . or _didn’t,_ I guess . . . did he look, um . . . frightened?”

          Wally almost laughed. That’s how absurd the words ‘Sammy’ and ‘frightened’ sounded together, because the two did _not_ belong in the same sentence whatsoever, no matter what was happening.

          But in a flash, he recalled the wild and uncharacteristic panic on the music director’s face when Wally had tried to leave, the distress when he’d cradled his head in his hands like he was in pain, and that stopped him just short.

          “Uh . . .” he fumbled, rubbing at his elbow awkwardly, “I, uh . . . he mighta been actin’ a bit weird, yeah, but . . . ya know, he’s been gone for a week. Probably just . . . yeah . . .”

          Norman flinched like he’d been slapped and quickly looked away, and Wally doesn’t like that his words seemed to have caused the other anguish.

          “Um . . .” he said, not knowing what to do, but wanting to be out of this situation, “Look, I gotta . . . I promised to go talk to Joey, so, uh, I’m just gonna go do that. See ya, Norman.”

          And he was gonna, when a steely glint entered Norman’s eyes, the man straightening as if some kind of resolve had suddenly swelled within him, “Yeah. Yeah, I’d say that’s a good plan right there, Franks. We need to _talk.”_

          And with that, the man started to stalk forward, and Wally could only helplessly trail after him, wondering just how he managed to mess his simple task up as badly as he had. But he can’t stop the man. For all its rarity, and even though he’s only seen it a few times himself, _everyone_ knows when Norman goes on the warpath.

          Man, this day just kept gettin’ better and better . . .

          He kept up the other man’s pace, and it’s not very long before he realized where Norman was headed. Indeed, the place where he himself had been going before he’d crashed into the man.

          And, unlike an ordinary day where Norman would politely knock, he went right on ahead and threw Joey’s office door open and stormed inside, demanding, “Joey, time’s up! We need to-!”

          And just like that, Norman’s voice stopped dead.

          Confused and also a little worried on account of everythin’ that had happened today, Wally quickly pushed his own way in to stand beside the suddenly still man, calling out, “Norman? Hey, Norman, you-!”

          Only to have his own voice die away when he saw what it was that had silenced Norman, both standing and staring in quiet shock.

          Right at a pair of pie-cut eyes that were staring right back from their place at the center of an occult circle, frozen from where they had been attempting to pull up the floorboards, as surprised to see them as they were to see him.

          And, because there’s nothing else he can think to do, Wally spoke,

          “Bendy?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boss better be given him a bonus for all this, or else he's outta here!


	6. And Now, For Something Completely Different!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its always been the 'monster'
> 
> The nightmare behind the dream
> 
> And though an evil might seem impossible to conquer

_“What . . . what_ is _that?!”_

_“-freakish. Don’t know what the hell Drew was thinkin’ would happen . . .”_

_“Scary!”_

_“Looks like a monster-,”_

_“-came out wrong-,”_

_“It’s wrong-!”_

_“-just wrong-,”_

_Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrongwrongwrong-_

_**“What a disappointment. Lock it up, make sure it doesn’t wander into the upper floors. Don’t need a scandal on top of everything else . . .”**_

_Most people ignored it after that. Most pretended it was never even there. It didn’t know why. It couldn’t even understand. Most of the time, it would stay still. Rarely, it would wander in the spaces it was allowed. Aimless, listless, with nothing to its motive save for a faint drive to search. Search for whatever it lacked, the thing it was missing, that made so many hate and fear it._

_One time, in its aimless travels, it came upon a cut-out. Its never seen one before, but it instantly knew what it was in a way it had never known anything before._ Who _it was._

_Its frozen face is incapable of speech, incapable of most things. But as the ink that made of its body ran as it was wont, had one observed this creature as it stared at a cardboard copy of what it should have been, one might have been tempted to say that the ink that dripped from its face almost looked like tears._

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

          Dark. That’s the first thing it understood. It’s not like the dark its known for years, though. Its different. Confusing. Pushing up from an inky swell, trying to breach the surface without being dragged back down . . .

          Its never felt that way before. What was happening?

          What . . . had happened?

          Blearily, as senses returned to normal, there’s a fadeaway of the darkness that clouded it, peeling apart as the blurry shapes around it settled into normalcy. Drawers, a closet, several hanging frames . . .

          Its only after several seconds of staring at these fairly innocuous objects that it realized something else . . .

           It could see them. It could _clearly_ see them.

          Its always been rough shapes, at best. Approximations of things in blurred white outlines, the rest dipping away it a deep, unseeable black. How . . . was this happening? How was this _possible?_

          And then, with lightning quickness . . . it remembered.

          It remembered _everything,_ and it’s throwing itself forward with wild abandon, only to have its body, a body far lighter than it was used to, barrel straight out of the thing it was inside and crash face-first into the floor before it.

          For a few moments, it lay there, stunned. But soon enough, instinctual urge to survive drove it up, shaking away the vertigo to stand. Its legs are much wobblier than they’ve ever been before, and it finds itself falling back to its knees, but it barely noticed over all the thoughts running through its head. Thoughts of its plan, its fight with Henry, chasing shadows through the halls it had corrupted, finally cornering its prey and about to eviscerate the man it hated more than anything, and then-!

          Pain.

          But not the kind it had been familiar with before. Not the red-hot, searing peel of flesh as all was burned to nothing, but rather . . . something within. Something that sat so heavy it was like a stone had been lodged in its chest, a weight that percolated down through its limbs until its body began to physically fall apart, and it remembered being . . . afraid. Afraid that it was over. That it was going to die. For good this time.

          But dying . . . isn’t what happened.

          . . . it remembered a mirror . . . and a face looking back at it from within, a face both familiar and alien at the same time, and . . .

          Was it sure . . . this was real?

          Slowly, like in a trance, it looked down at its hands, to find the confirmation it was almost too afraid to see, for it would be all too easy for such things to be untrue, an illusion soon shattered by a simple glance down.

          Hands. White, gloved, _whole_ hands, not twisted, unnatural growths tipped by claws fighting their own confines. Haltingly, hesitantly, it reached with one to touch the other, pressing, prodding, looking for a trick, for a trick this had to be, right?

          But all it found was the feeling of a soft, supple texture reminiscent of cloth, no ink oozing from within, and it felt like something inside it was suddenly being squeezed.

          Quickly, frantically, it began to pat its hands (white, gloved, whole) across its body, a body that’s smaller than it remembered, and no longer bony and dripping ink. It felt up to its tie, one that rested snug against it rather than drooping loosely down its front, always on the verge of falling off. Its hands then traveled up to its head, patting up the sides to its horns, horns as symmetrical as could be, before traveling back down to feel around its mouth.

          It looked for its grin, its grin that never changed . . . but it’s not there. Tracing the edges slowly, carefully, it felt the that normally upward curve was gone, inverted into something different. Something strange and unfamiliar and c-can it really believe this, _how_ can this be happening?

          Inside, it felt that tight, squeezing sensation growing more and more, hot in its chest until it seemed the sensation was rising up through its throat, tight and heavy.

          Barely understanding what was happening, disbelief so great it was consuming, and all it could do was shake its head, “What in the world is-?”

          Before slapping a hand over its mouth, stunned.

          Its . . . i-its voice . . .

          Gone was the distorted and sinister echo it had carried all its existence, clouding what would otherwise be a jovial and happy voice. And instead, it sounded like . . . it sounded like . . .

          It sounded like how it was meant to sound. How it was meant to _be._

          It sounded like _Bendy._

          There’re a few moments of silence as it absorbed this, absorbed everything, that same squeezing sensation in its chest a vice now, so tight it hurt, but in a way its never hurt before, could never have hurt before.

          And then . . . its laughing.

          It’s laughing a laugh that grew louder and higher the longer it went, something strange and dream-like and _wonderful,_ even when its eyes, eyes unclouded by ink, began to burn with something new, something that soon overflowed to spill down its changed face.

          It felt like something was hammering in its chest, and both hands go to grasp around it, feeling full to the point of bursting and not sure what to do about these new sensations its only ever been able to watch before. But its there, inside, and its terrifying and amazing all at the same time.

          “Hahaha, h-how is this happenin’, huh?” it murmured, still unbelieving that the voice coming out of its mouth is its own, “How is this . . . ?”

          Time’s always been irrelevant to it, so it doesn’t know how much of it passed . . . but eventually, the tightness in its chest abated to something softer, less constricting, enough to where it felt like it could breathe again. Sniffing, still in shock, it wiped away the wetness it felt off its face with its hands (white, gloved, whole), a wetness that didn’t cling like the ink would. Its hard-pressed to want to move, wanting to just explore its remade body more, a body its always wanted but didn’t have and couldn’t even say it dreamed of having, because abominations don’t sleep, let alone dream.

          But no, it can’t just be this simple. Because not too long ago, it had been a threat to this place, and it seriously doubted the people here had forgotten.

          It’s a wonder it woke up at all like this.

          Carefully, cautiously, it began to look around, gauging where it was, figure out what had happened to it while it . . . slept, it supposed.

          The first thing it notes is that its in a very familiar office, one it recalled breaking into not that long ago. And the second . . . the second is that, while seemingly fixed, it most certainly was not trusted, because it found very quickly that it was bound to a sealing circle. Can’t say it was surprised . . . now that it’s paying attention, it can feel the subtle pressure in the air around it, the weight of invisible walls pressing around on all sides, caging it in. And . . . it got the feeling that they wouldn’t be so easy to break this time . . .

          And no one else was here. No one else . . . had they just left it there? To be forgotten, like how so many others had done? Or were they simply waiting for it to awaken so they could destroy it more personally, more _satisfactorily?_ How couldn’t they? Why _wouldn’t_ they?

          There was no way they’d be merciful. Not after what it had done.

          Just thinking about it . . . it stirred up something its never felt before whenever it thought about its actions. Something tight and uncomfortable and that made it want to sink into the floor and disappear. It doesn’t know what the feeling is . . . but it can’t say that it liked it very much.

          “Ha . . . yeah, there’s no way I can expect mercy here, huh?” it mumbled, and its tone is something more familiar now; its bitter. And just a touch of something else, too, something its heard in other’s voices but never its own.

           Just its luck, to seem to get back what it lost, only to lose it again soon after, for it doubted anyone would stick their neck out for it. It wondered what their punishment would be. Ritual banishment? Acetone bath? Holy water? The more it thought about it, the more it started to squirm. It . . . it didn’t _want_ those things to happen to it, basic survival and all, but now its . . . its making something prickle under its skin, something that made it feel like its insides were shaking, swallowing heavily with every morbid thought that crossed it.

          It . . . needed to get out of here. It needed to get out, because it doesn’t want to die yet! And not just because of survival, but because the thought is genuinely . . . scary? Is that what the heavy, shaking feeling in its gut was? Was it _fear?_

          Heh . . . it never used to be scared of anything before. Everything’s always been scared of _it._ Its almost embarrassing . . .

          But even if it got out, where could it possibly go?

          Then, out of the corner of its eye, something glinted. Sharp, silver, dragging its gaze to it, and there, leaning right beside the only couch in the room, it could just make out the shine of a familiar axe head.

          _Henry._

          Remembering the old man also made it remember what had happened before its consciousness had fled. How the man it had tormented for countless years had come to it and, instead of lashing out as it would have thought and taking vengeance rightfully earned, he’d . . . he’d given it comfort instead. Had . . . had let it cry into his shirt, and it could remember now the weight of the man’s hand against it’s back, comforting and warm and so many other things it couldn’t possibly put a name too.

          Henry had had no reason to do so. You’d think the guy would hate it almost as much as he hated Joey, would revel in the opportunity to destroy it once and for all.       

          But he _hadn’t._

          And that made something warm glow inside its chest in a way nothing ever had before.

          Could it be possible . . . that the man was also the reason why it was still alive now? Why the rest hadn’t simply destroyed it while it had slept?

          . . . it’s the most it’s got. It’d rather be anywhere than here, and if Henry was actually on its side, then . . . it guessed it’d better stick with him. But where was the old man now?

          And how did it get _out?_

          Calming down and feeling a little more emboldened now that it had a plan, it finally stood upright, marveling for a second at its unbroken legs and shoed feet before taking a step forward to examine the borders of the circle.

          Only to shout out when its heel came down on something that sent pain shooting up its back. It hopped away, seeing something on the ground swish just out of its sight, only to feel something slap into the back of its head. It spun around, now well and truly alarmed, falling its hands out and stumbling back only to trip over the drawer that’s siting in the middle of the circle with it. It went down with a cry, landing on its back with a thud and feeling something thin and light land on its chest.

          Blinking away the stars, it shoved itself upright again, groaning, “Ow, what the-?”

          Something fell onto its lap now, and it looked down, frowning. And it found . . . something thin and long and black resting across its lap, tipped by a sharp, triangular point.

          “What’s this thing?” it wondered aloud, picking it up. Its then it noticed that it felt the sensation of the object itself too, like it would its own body. Curious now, it gave the thing a very gentle tug, and noticed it felt the pull too, erasing any doubt that it wasn’t attached to it.

           Was this . . . a part of its body?

          Experimentally, it imagined the tail wiggling, and blinked when it did so, just like its arm or leg would. Bendy never had a tail in the sketch sheets, did he? No, it was fairly certain he didn’t, its looked at those concepts so much it knows them like the back of its . . . well, the back of its old hands.

          So why did it have one?

          Well, there’s nothing it can do about it. Maybe Henry would know, if it could get out of here.

          Glancing at the tail in its hands, it focused on it and tried to imagine it moving again, and smiled a little when the tail responded, fwipping out of its hands and up into the air, coiling smartly behind it. There, can’t step on it that way now, can it?

          One problem solved, about a million more to go . . .

           Standing up again, it once again examined the barrier around it. Its about what it would expect, all the lines whole and done with an experienced hand, and it doubted throwing its fists would do much to the barriers. It was certainly noticing its lack of strength and size now, that was for sure.

           Its gonna have to be clever about this, somehow, because it can’t just sit here waiting for the rest to roll out the sacred candles. But what to do?

           Its eyes trailed to the ground, foot tapping rapidly against it as it thought over its options. No way it could break the walls, no way it could grab anything on the outside, no way it could slink away through the boards . . .

           The boards . . . the _boards_. . .

           With a surge of sudden excitement, it quickly dropped to its knees and began to pat the wood beneath it, the runic markings not doing anything to its probing fingers. The magic only worked because of the circle. So it stood to reason that if it could destroy the circle . . . then there’d be no magic!

           “Now how am I gonna do this . . .?” it wondered aloud. It can’t reach between the boards, they’re too tightly compact, but there had to be another way, couldn’t there?

           Behind it, its tail flicked to the left and bumped against something, and it looked to find the drawer sitting beside it. It’s fairly sturdy wood, with a large metal hanger on the front for pulling, filled with something soft that it must have been laying on before. But seeing it . . . gives it an idea.

            Quickly, it tossed the soft materials out of the drawer and examined the inside, finding that within there’s a few strips of metal along the edges to serve as both decoration and reinforcement. Perfect!

            Then, hoping its own strength was enough, it began to break the drawer down. Its rough, rougher than anything its tried to destroy before, but its got experience with such things and knows how to find those special soft spots that makes it much easier to break stuff.

            . . . maybe, uh, maybe not something it should be proud of, huh?

            Still, it served it well now, and soon, it had a nice, long, sturdy piece of metal in its hands that it held aloft, grinning triumphantly.

           “This’ll work!” it said, pleased with this turn of events. Then, not wanting to waste time, it looked down and jabbed the metal spoke right between the floorboards.

            There was a brief zing that travelled up its arms, a ripple of energy as the circle fought this intrusion. But its manageable, and it shoved it in deeper and began to wiggle it back and forth, trying to pry the stubborn piece of wood out. You’d think this would be a stupid oversight to leave such a weakness in your cage, and truthfully, it was; there was a reason most practitioners did these things on stone floors. But one man’s oversight is another’s escape.

             There was a soft _creeeeak_ as the wood began to give, and it pushed harder, eager to be free of this cage. Around it, it felt the walls fluctuate, the magic holding them together fraying at the seams.

            “Almost . . . got it . . .” it mumbled, concentrating, So _close . . ._

_BANG!_

            “Joey, time’s up! We need to-!”

             It _froze._

             Hands still clutching the pipe in a now vice grip, its eyes shot to the only door in the place, stunned to see a human standing there, staring right back at it. Tall, dark-skinned, and with graying hair now, but a human it recognized all the same, from very long ago.

_Clever, stubborn, shrewd, always sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. That had cost him, in the end._

             “Norman? Hey, Norman, you-?”

             And another human stepped in alongside the other, falling deathly silent just the same when he saw it standing there in the center of the room. Messy brown hair contained beneath a familiar cap, and it recognized _that_ one too.

_Loud, energetic, stupid, a bit more sticky-fingered than many would like. How much trouble did those sticky fingers get you in?_

             It knows very well what happened to the two in its world. It knows what happened to everyone. And besides, even if it didn’t, been a real long time since it last saw their mugs.

             Then, the janitor spoke, “Bendy?”

             It tensed at that. They think its Bendy. Of course, why wouldn’t they? But . . . but maybe that meant they weren’t aware of what happened the day before. Maybe it could still find a way out of this, suspect circumstances be damned.

             “U-uh, hey fellas!” it responded, trying to not wince at its stilted tone. Come on, it needed to do better than that! “Ya kinda caught me at a bad time!”

             The janitor, Wally it thinks, scratched his head, looking perplexed, “What happened to ya, boss? Yer lookin’ . . . different.”

              It made a show of laughing, though it comes out awkward, “Haha, well, ya know, this and that. Its been a . . . bit of a long day.”

             It wiggled the metal spoke a little more, the wood creaking, when it glanced the janitor’s way, an idea occurring, “Hey, uh, don’t suppose you could lend a guy a hand or two here, huh? I’m a bit . . . stuck in here, right now.”

             “Stuck in what?” Wally asked, and it tried to keep from rolling its eyes. Right. Stupid.

              “Hold up a second, Franks,” the other human, Norman it thinks, placed a firm and restraining hand on the other man’s shoulder, eyes narrowed in profound suspicion, “I don’t know that that’d be smart.”

              Ah. Right. Not so stupid.

              Wally looked at him, frowning, “Why? If he’s stuck shouldn’t we help?”

             Norman leaned over to whisper, but its ears are far keener than it would seem. Walking around mostly blind meant you had to use those other senses a bit more liberally, “They’re two other new toons in the studio right now, Wally. And I _saw_ our boss not that long ago. I don’t think this is the Bendy we know.”

            Ah, crap, so he knew more about what was goin’ on than most did. That was definitely not good. And the janitor was nodding now, understanding, and it got the feeling it wasn’t gonna talk its way out of this one.

            Which meant it just needed to break this circle poste-haste, before they raised the alarm for the others in the studio!

            “Well, whadda we do?” Wally asked him, mimicking his low tone of voice.

           “Same thing as before. We find Joey, and we get him to _talk.”_

_Joey._

           . . . no. No way. It was _not_ staying here if they were bringing Joey. It had no doubt that he was the one who made this circle, and if he thought he’d get to play puppet master with it again, he had another comin’!

           So, with a surge of rebellion lighting up its limbs, it shifted all its weight to one side and dropped down, dragging the spoke with it, feeling the resistance of the board as it fought to maintain its place, and-!

_CRACK!_

          It snapped. And the circle snapped with it.

          The result is instantaneous. With the anchor violently destroyed, the magic had nowhere to safely dissipate. So instead, all the gathered energy rippled once before exploding outward in burst of invisible force. The cabinets and drawers all jostled and shook as they were blown back, every piece of loose paraphernalia flying into the air and clattering riotously into the walls, the single chair blasting back into the wall with a loud, shuddering slam!

          There were two cries as the energy slammed into the two humans in the room as well, lifting them both off their feet and sending them crashing back into the wall beside the door, sliding down it with two heavy _thuds._

          . . . whoops.

          Quickly, though, it collected itself and stood back up. People would have _definitely_ heard that if they were nearby! It needed to make like a tree ad leave!

          Still, right before it made its escape, it found itself pausing just a little beside the two humans, looking them over intently for just a few moments. Both were out, but their chests were rising and falling. Breathing. Alive.

          It doesn’t really have a word for the way its shoulders sagged then, the sensation of something heavy lifting off its chest but making it feel so much better about the circumstances.

          It jumped when Norman groaned, eyelids fluttering, and it knew it had to leave.

          “Uh . . . sorry,” it said, the word still tasting foreign in its mouth, but still finding it right to say, “Just . . . give it a couple a hours, you’ll, uh, you’ll sleep it off.”

          Then it left, shooting out the door into the hallways beyond.

          Now, its not as versed in this studio as its own, obviously, so it just picked a direction and ran. However, it soon discovered that maneuvering about wouldn’t be so easy, because there was a LOT more people here than last time, and soon, its ducking around and slinking about like a rat in an effort to not be caught.

          As it hid behind another plant vase to avoid another group’s detection, it can’t help but think it felt . . . wrong, hiding around like this. It used to be the most fearsome thing around, people hid from _it,_ for pete’s sake!

          But it had no idea who knew the truth about it and who didn’t, and it couldn’t take that chance. Not until it found Henry.

          But it didn’t see him in the crowds meandering by, no matter how hard it looked. And he didn’t seem to be in any of the rooms it searched, either. Its not too much longer before it found itself wandering deeper in, to places that were quieter and less crowded, which it liked. Its not used to all that noise and activity, and frankly, it was tired of creeping around.

          But that didn’t help it locate the old man. It had no idea where he could be. And that was . . . frustrating.

          And if it ran into someone else before then . . .

          No, no, it shouldn’t think like that. Those thoughts ain’t any good. It just needed to keep moving. Sides, not like it had run into anyone it should actually be wary of.

          And of course, it would be that moment that a door just behind it would open right on up and two shapes would walk out, right into its line of sight.

          “-we’ll get this sorted out, Tom, you’ll see. And then- . . .”

          The voice goes silent, a voice it is _very_ familiar with, and after a tense moment of not wanting to face the music, it haltingly turned around to see what it knew it would find.

          Al and Tom stared right back at it, eyes wide as if they weren’t quite able to believe it was really standing there. At the same time, it is suddenly and acutely aware of just how . . . _big_ they both are compared to it now, and the glint of the weapons they had strapped to their sides.

          This was, uh . . . a _pickle._ For sure. How did it get out of this?

          Then, in perhaps the most awkward way it could imagine but literally incapable of coming up with anything else to do, it held up a hand and slowly waved, ink trickling down its brow, “Uh, haha . . . hi?”

          Al just kept staring, but Tom on the other hand . . . oh, his eyes were _gleaming_ now, and while its not familiar with most emotions, it definitely knows murder when it sees it. Then, lowly, the wolf began to growl.

          “And _bye!”_

          And like that, it shot off down the hall, just as the wolf’s growling turned to terrible snarls.

          It had no idea where it was going, but it knew it needed to run, and it needed to run fast. And, with no gangly, broken leg to impede, it was actually able to do so, though it seemed that the wolf was keeping pace. He could hear the angel girl crying out after her companion, but he’s too focused on making it out of this alive to care what she said.

          Every hall passed in a blur, but the mutt didn’t let up once, hounding it relentlessly.  

          “Oh, don’t ya got a bone to chew, or somethin’!” it shouted as it narrowly dodged an axe swing. The wolf just snarled in response.

          Rounding a corner, it pelted forward only to skid to a halt when it realized that, wonderfully, it had managed to run itself right into a dead end. Maybe the wrong moment for some self-reflection, but between all the hiding and the running and this, it’s really starting to understand its former preys’ perspective a _lot_ more.

          Wait, no, not quite! There was a door at the very end, nestled right in the corner, and without thinking about, it ran right towards it and dove through.

          For a few seconds, the room beyond seemed to swirl with disjointed shapes and colors, still freshly unique to its inexperienced eyes, but the cries of alarm quickly snapped things back into focus.

          And while it immediately noticed several more familiar figures within this long, brightly lit room, its focus zeroed in on one; the only gray-skinned human in the vicinity, staring at it with shock shining in his black eyes.

          _Henry!_

          The growl behind it sent it shooting towards the man, even as the rest of the gathered party cried out, running behind the man and scrambling up the back of his shirt like a squirrel to finally give itself some height. Henry let loose a startled sound, going tense as he stuck his arms out. Reflexively, its tail wrapped around his upper arm, and it peeked out from over the other’s shoulder as Tom burst in, Al just behind him. But thankfully, when they see where it was taking shelter, they both don’t come any closer.

          Its then in the stunned quiet that it fully took in the other figures in the room, all staring with expressions of shock and horror in equal measure. Boris, who’s half-hiding behind a startled Joey Drew (ugh, delightful), and . . .

          Well, how ‘bout that? Its own doppelganger was in the room too. Seeing his stupid, slack-jawed face brought that familiar sting it felt ever since it first learned he existed; that bitter swell of envy mixing with its own hateful nature into something rancid and vile.

          But there’s something different now. Something that almost makes it want to lower its gaze from the other’s, because that horrified stare felt like it was physically burning it, and it didn’t like that.

          “Henry, are you alright?” Al asked, hand on her sword and eyes fixed on it, waiting for it to make a move.

          “H-how did it get out?!” that was from his own clone, taking a few steps towards Joey as Boris whined behind the man, cowering, “You said you sealed it!”

          Joey looked flummoxed, sputtering, “I-I-I _did,_ I don’t know what happened-!”

          Tom growled and took a threatening step towards it, and its fingers tightened into the cloth of the shirt the old man wore, growing tense. Then, it felt Henry take a sudden breath and hold up his hands, “Okay, okay, everyone calm down!”

          All eyes turned to him, and he carried on, “Al, I’m fine. I’m not in any danger. I don’t think anyone is. But, maybe . . . maybe I should handle this.”

          Al was frowning, Tom was still growling, and the other two toons looked very, very reluctant to do that, and it’s seriously starting to wonder if breaking out had been such a good idea at all.

          “A-are ya sure?” Boris asked, shrinking away when it’s gaze turned to him. Its used to the Borises wandering the halls of its studio (and the corpses), and its never really cared one way or the other seeing as how none of them were a genuine article and was also literally incapable of caring anyway. But seeing the wolf quail from it now . . . stung. Just a little bit.

          “How do ya know it won’t just do somethin’ to ya when we’re gone?!” its counterpart demanded, and his eyes are fixed on it, equal parts scared and accusing.

           Its used to all those things. Accusations were to be expected. But something about the fact that it is its counterpart saying it made it bristle very unexpectedly, and with an angry glare in return, it lifted itself up over Henry’s shoulder and shouted, “Hey, I coulda done somethin’ when I showed up and you know it, so shut yer trap!”

           Silence is its only response, and maybe in hindsight not the best set of words it could have used to defend itself. But if a monster was what they were expectin’ and what it still was, then a monster is what they would have got right out the door!

           But then, surprisingly, after a few moments of awfully tense silence, its Joey who intervened, gently taking the toons he’d made by the shoulder and saying, “I . . . think Henry’s right.”

          “But Joey-!” his counterpart whispered furiously.

          “Please. Just trust me. And trust him,” he gestured to Henry, “I think he knows what he’s doing. Besides . . . he hasn’t been doing anything dangerous, has he? All he’s done is hide.”

          It took it a long, long moment before it realized that Joey was referring to it. Was calling it . . . he? A ‘he’? Huh, it’s never been called a ‘he’ before . . .

          . . . but it kinda liked how it sounded.

          “I’ll be fine,” Henry stated, looking at the companions he’d befriended in the studio, “I promise. Besides, I think Drew needs to go address the other problem we have.”

          Joey seemed to wilt a little at that, but then straightened and nodded, “Right, right. Come on. It’ll be okay!”

          He led the toons beside him towards the door, and it could see both of them glance back. Boris’ eyes are huge, a little fearful, but it can see the tiniest gleam of curiosity in them too, maybe even a little hope bolstered by Joey’s evident faith. And the other one . . . well, if suspicion had a face, that would be it.

          Tom growled again very angrily, before whipping around and grabbing Al by the arm, dragging her out.

          “You promised!” Al shouted over her shoulder, right before the door was slammed closed. Then, stillness settled over the room.

          Once the room had emptied out, it let loose a breath it hadn’t even known it had been holding, at the same time the old man’s shoulder relaxed beneath its grip.

          It’s a few moments of just enjoying the silence and lack of outer threats when Henry cleared his throat, and it looked up to see the old man looking at it over his shoulder, a small frown on his face.

          Ah, right . . .

          It laughed a little nervously as it unwound its tail from the man’s arm, then let itself fall back onto the couch behind them, bouncing a little on the cushions. Once it did, the old man turned around, heaving a somewhat weary and tired sigh.

          “Alright,” Henry said, crossing his arms, “So . . .”

          “Ah, okay, look, listen,” it started, before the other could start accusing it of things, “I haven’t done anythin’! Well, okay, maybe not _quite_ , but that part was an accident, and they’re both fine, and I-!”

          “Bendy, slow down,” the man said, holding up a hand.

            It stopped speaking entirely, falling quiet, but it was less the command and more the fact that . . . well, he’ d called it ‘Bendy’. It knows that’s what it was supposed to be, but for a very long time, it had always seemed to it that it hadn’t really . . . owned that name. Or maybe didn’t deserve it. Hard to say. It’s a bitter feeling either way.

          For a long moment, the old man just looked it over from head to foot, and it tried not to squirm under his stare too much. Still, it found itself muttering, “Geez, am I on a runway, or somethin’?”

          Henry blinked at that, “Sorry. Just making sure . . . well, you seem to be holding up alright.”

          Ah. He’s talking about its form. It shrugged, noncommittal, “Yeah, ya don’t gotta sugarcoat it, I know what yer lookin’ for. Hate to disappoint, but no drippy mess here.”

          “That’s . . .” Henry sighed then, rubbing a hand over his eyes, “This is . . . new for both of us. I just want to make sure things are working out.”

          There’s silence between them, and its not sure how to breach it. It had wanted to find Henry, because Henry hadn’t rejected it and might have answers, but, well . . . how do you talk to a guy you’ve hunted for decades now? Its not as easy as ‘hey, hello, sorry for all the times I killed ya, ya wanna be friends now?’

          “How’d you get out of the circle?” Henry suddenly asked, eyebrow raised. He didn’t look accusing though, just curious.

          “Hey, demonology one-oh-one, don’t seal dangerous supernatural entities on a floor made of _wood,”_ it said, placing its hands on its hips.

          Henry looked disbelieving, “You were strong enough to break it?”

          It frowned at him, a little insulted, “Hey, just cause I’m two feet tall now don’t mean I can’t use my brains.”

          “Right,” he said, “And, what was that about something being an accident?”

           At that, it winced, rubbing the back of its head, that same unpleasant feeling from before filling it up, “Uh, yeah, when I was trying to get out, these two blokes came into the office, and they uh . . . they kinda got hit with the backlash? They’re fine though!”

           “Two people _saw_ you?” Henry started, and though he did look al little alarmed, he’s keeping it under control.

           “Uh . . . yeah?”

            Henry stared at it. Then, he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers, “Great . . . I knew leaving you alone was a bad idea . . .”

            It just stood there, not really sure what to say in reply. Its never been one to dwell on has-beens, wasn’t much point, especially in their studio.

           “Guess there’s not much to be done for it. You said they’re fine?” Henry asked, looking back down at it.

           “Yeah, they were breathin’ and stuff. Probably be a bit sore in the mornin’, but coulda been worse,” it said, shrugging.

            Henry just sighed again, and it got the feeling the old man was going to be doing that a lot in regard to it, “Why’d you break out in the first place?”

            At that, it shimmied on the spot, suddenly . . . embarrassed? Was that the one?

            “I, uh . . . I was lookin’ for you. I thought you’d probably know stuff about what was goin’ on, and . . . well . . .” it tapped its foot restlessly, tail flicking over the cushions as its eyes trialed down, not sure what else to do, “Ya didn’t . . . attack me, last time. Even though ya probably should have.”

             It isn’t looking at the man’s face, so it can’t see his expression. However, after a moment, it heard him take a step towards it, and it tensed, half-afraid that maybe the man had changed his mind. Then, there was a sinking in the cushions beside it, and it looked to find that Henry was now sitting next to it, watching and only that. No danger . . . and it felt itself relax again.

             It . . . it guessed that _is_ what couches are used for, huh?

             Slowly, and a little awkwardly, it mimicked what Henry was doing, sitting down with its hands on its lap. It still doesn’t speak though. Its not sure what to say.

             Then, “I take it you mean ‘knowing stuff’ in regard to you, right?”

             Slowly, it nodded, because that was the truth, wasn’t it?

            “What do you remember?”

            At that, it shifted on the spot, tail curling around its legs as if to protect itself from danger, “I, uh, remember the Ink Machine and the room . . . and then, uh, Joey did somethin’ with that book and I was . . . I was fallin’ apart. And then, um . . . I found a mirror and saw . . . this.”

          It looked back at Henry, searching, “What . . . what happened to me? How did . . . I thought this was _impossible_ without a . . .”

          It cut itself off before it could say ‘sacrifice’. It doesn’t . . . really want to think about that.

          “To be honest, I’m not sure on the details myself, but . . .” the man paused, as if looking for the right words to say before continuing, “You were . . . soulless. That was why you turned out the way you did. So what Joey did was . . . give you a piece of his to make up for it and stabilize your form. And, well . . . it looks like it worked.”

          It stared at the man, “He gave me a piece of his soul. _Joey. Drew.”_

          It can’t believe that. It can’t believe that the conniving, deceitful human being that created it would be so willing to part with his precious soul for it, different universe or not. And even if it could, even is his stupid, open, honest behavior was genuine, why would he _bother?_ Its not like it had done anything to endear itself to him, or anyone!

          “Its hard to believe, I know,” Henry said, voice calm, “But I think you can see the proof for yourself.”

          “. . . are you sure that’s really all it is? That’s . . . that _can’t_ be all,” it said, shaking its head. No way it was that simple, it had been a mess! One would think it would take all the ink, sacrifices, and souls seven times over just to make it a little stable, if it were even possible! But just a _piece_ of one? Just a measly little piece? That _can’t_ be right!

          “Well, nobody died. And he explained the process was the same with his toons. I know it’s hard to believe that, believe _him,_ I know better than anyone . . . but even I can’t deny that his plan worked,” Henry explained.

          And it could see it in Henry’s eyes that the man believed that to be the truth. The cold, hard, irrevocable truth, which was that all it had taken to fix it, fix _everything_ about it . . . was just one tiny shard of someone’s soul. Not even a whole soul, just a _piece_ of one!

          Its so . . . stupid.

          It’s so _fucking_ stupid!

          “. . . that’s it,” it murmured, “That’s really it. All this time, the only thing he needed to do was just shave off a tiny little piece he wouldn’t even remember, and everythin’ coulda been different? I coulda been different? That’s all it woulda taken?!”

          “Bendy-,”

          _“Bendy!_ Yeah, yeah, that was what I was supposed to be, wasn’t it?!” its standing now, and its suddenly angry, _so_ angry, as it rounded on the old man, “But I _wasn’t!_ Fer years, I was just the mistake, the abomination, and I thought _nothin’_ could fix me! And now, yer tellin’ me that, that the only thing he had to do was just give me a PIECE of a soul to make everythin’ right, no sacrifices required! That, that I coulda been _normal_ , and _correct_ , and _me,_ and that’s _all it woulda TAKEN!”_

          A pair of hands on his shoulders silenced its tirade, Henry giving it a firm, but understanding look, and it was only then it became aware of that same trailing wetness rolling down its cheeks. Sniffing, embarrassed, upset, it wiped at them, feeling everything about droop with sudden exhaustion, “It ain’t _fair.”_

          “No. Its not. But our Joey was never about being fair,” Henry said, and despite the hard edge in his tone, there is sympathy inside it too. He gave its shoulders a squeeze, drawing its eyes back up, “But it is fixed here. And it’s not gonna be easy . . . but its start.”

          “And do ya trust him?” it asked, frowning, “This place’s Joey?”

          At that, Henry frowned a little, looking thoughtful, “. . . I don’t know. On one hand, he’s kept his word, and has actually tried to make things right. But on the other . . . well, I learned my lesson twice over about trusting him in the past, and its a hard lesson to forget. But, at the very least, I think we’re out of danger here.”

          He meant that too, it could see it.

          “You alright?” the man asked it after a moment, a glimmer of concern in his eyes its never seen anyone give it.

          “I’m . . .” it sighed and flopped back down, bringing its knees up to its chest and wrapping its arms around them as it huffed, “Frustrated? I think . . .”

          “Yeah, that’s an understnable one,” Henry said.

          “It’s weird. I don’t know how to . . . how to sort all this stuff out,” it admitted, and feeling dumb for it.

           Henry gave it a pat on its back, one it liked to imagine was comforting, “The whole ‘having emotions’ thing is a pretty tangled business, but you’ll figure out it out.”

           It gave a noncommittal hum, letting the silence fall between them for a few moments, thinking about everything that had transpired. What a roller-coaster . . . and it felt like it hadn’t even reached the apex yet!

          There’s a lot to sort through, it knows . . . but perhaps oddly, there was one thing in particular it kept coming back to, that had teased at it ever since it had been said. And, since it doesn’t know what else to do, it quietly whispered, “He . . .”

           “Hm?”

           “When I first showed up,” it explained softly, “Joey, he . . . called me a ‘he’.”

           Henry nodded, seeming to take its confusion seriously, “He did. Do you not like that?”

           “No, no, it ain’t like that!” it said, sharply turning its gaze to the man, “Its just . . . no ones ever said that to me before. I know that’s what . . . Bendy’s supposed to be, but, ya know . . . I wasn’t that.”

            “Well . . . technically speaking . . . you are now.”

            Henry said it so simply, but it found its eyes widening all the same. Seeing its hesitance, the man continued, “I know all of this is confusing. And I know it probably feels strange after all this time . . . but you aren’t the Ink Demon anymore.”

           “Yeah, for now,” it said, a trickle of doubt filtering in, “Who says this’ll last, huh?”

          “Don’t think like that,” Henry said sternly, “It’s going to be hard, learning what it means to have a soul. But you _have_ one. The Demon did not.”

          “But what if I mess up, huh?” it asked, “What if I do somethin’ bad?”

          Henry looked at it, something firm but gentle at the same time, “You will mess up. We all do. That’s what it means to be alive. But you can correct those mistakes, just like you can start working on making up for the things you did.”

         “Heh . . . ya make it sound so easy,” it mumbled.

          Henry shook his head, “It won’t be. I’m not going to lie to you. But you have the chance now, and that’s a lot more than most get. Okay . . . Bendy?”

          It looked at the man, and it can see he believed every word. That it could redeem itself. That it wouldn’t fall back into its old habits. That it could be what it was always meant to be.

          That it could be _Bendy._

          It seemed so impossible. But it wanted, more than anything, to be so. And maybe . . . _maybe_ , if it . . . _he_ , can’t trust himself . . . he can at least trust Henry.

          He’s all the reborn toon has got.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Could it, with compassion, be more than what it seemed?


	7. Talking Only Gets You so Far

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much to explain, so little he can share
> 
> How much truth is safe twist, how much is too much to bear?
> 
> Can't pretend it didn't happen, can't stretch it all too thin

Voice of

JOEY DREW

_You know, everyone likes to say that talk is cheap._

_But, I can certainly say from experience that it is anything but!_

_How do you think I got as far as I did in the beginning?_

_Why, you learn how to use the gift of gab, and you can do just about anything!_

_Make anyone_ believe _anything!_

 _And_ that _. . . that is just the tip of a very big iceberg._

*

*

*

*

           Well, this was certainly turning into a . . . a _day._

           First, all of Joey’s employees turn up out of the blue (okay, maybe not out of the blue, because they _were_ supposed to come back today, but boy, he sure was going to be kicking himself for a long while forgetting that), and he was going to have to find out what to tell them far sooner than he wanted to, and then the ‘demon’ he’d changed had somehow freed himself and was now out and about as well. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to be in a fit of murderous rage this time, acting much more like the toon he was meant to be rather than . . . what he’d been. Joey wanted to take that to be a good sign!

          Unfortunately, as he ushered out all the toons from the room to leave Henry to deal with _that_ , it was clear he was sort of the only one who believed it. Tom had refused to budge from his spot once he’d left, eyeing the door with deep distrust and suspicion, and Al was not too far behind him, heel tapping agitatedly on the floor with a hand wrapped around the hilt of her sword. And, when it became clear neither would move, Joey had been forced to carry on with Boris and Bendy in tow.

          Not that he necessarily wanted to leave, but . . . he really did need to address the issue of his employees before anything else untoward happened. Gosh, the rumors that must have spread already by now . . .

          Boris and Bendy walked with him, the wolf wringing his paws together as he glanced back for the tenth time, frowning worriedly, ears low to his head. Then, “Gee, do you really think it’ll be alright?”

          Bendy, who’d been nursing a very unhappy scowl, arms crossed and fuming, threw his hands up and said with sarcasm dripping heavily from his words, “Oh yeah, I’m sure it’ll be _fine,_ Boris! It’s just one guy, and it’s not like it tried to _kill us_ or anythin’!”

          Boris whined, and Joey winced a little at the other’s abrasive tone, holding up his hands to calm the irate toon, “Now, Bendy, I . . . I _know_ this isn’t going to be the easiest road, but I really do think it’ll start looking up! He certainly hasn’t tried to hurt anyone now, has he?”

          “That ain’t the point, though, Joey! It’s the fact that it hurt people in the first place! And how do ya know it ain’t just an act, anyway, huh? Could be that it’s just waitin’ for us to let our guards down so it can body-snatch one of us when nobody’s lookin’!” Bendy yelled, ink beginning to trickle down his brow.

          Joey frowned, a little saddened by the toon’s distrust, but understanding completely why it was there. Oh, how could he convince him that it would be better, that he didn’t have to be so afraid now?

          Boris twined his fingers together, glancing backwards again, “I don’t know . . . I mean, he wasn’t actin’ like he did before. He just looked a little . . . scared. Maybe he has changed . . . just a little bit?”

          “Boris, yer a great guy who sees the best in everyone, and that’s a great thing about you, but come _on,_ buddy! You _saw_ what it did!” Bendy said, sticking an arm out back towards where they had come.

          “I-I know, but . . .” Boris faltered, head lowering dismally, seeing the stubborn glint in the other’s eyes and knowing arguing was pointless right now.

          Joey looked worriedly between the two for a moment, before taking a step towards Bendy and kneeling down to his level, placing a hand on the other’s shoulder to ensure he had his attention, “Bendy, please-,”

          “Joey, come _on_. You _gotta_ see this a bad idea, don’t ya?” Bendy intoned, looking almost desperate.

          Joey frowned again. Oh, he’s well aware how much he had risked with this idea. Was . . . _still_ risking, technically. But he _does_ believe it can get better. _Will_ get better.

          He just needed to make Bendy see that too, “I know. This was . . . a gamble, I admit! But I think it’s one that’s already paying off. And listen,” he held the toon’s shoulder when he began to turn away in frustration, speaking as sincerely as he could, “I understand why you feel the way you do. No one can blame you for that. I certainly don’t! And . . . you don’t have to trust him, or talk to him, or anything like that at all, but-!”

          “Yeah, that’s great and I’ll keep that in mind, but what about the rest of the studio? You _can’t_ be serious about not tellin’ em what that thing was, what it could do? I’m all for keepin’ the peace and whatever, but that’s just a recipe for _disaster!”_ Bendy shouted.

          Ah, Joey knew he wouldn’t approve of that part of the idea. He’d spent a good while deliberating over what he should and shouldn’t tell in the brief time he’d been allotted, the ‘Demon’ included. But he couldn’t see a good reason for . . . bringing it up. Not one that wouldn’t just make everyone afraid to come to work, and beyond that, it would make it impossible for the reformed toon to forge the connections he would need to really begin to understand his newfound humanity. It was a lose-lose scenario in his mind.

          And he still wanted to believe that the danger was truly over and that there was no _need_ for that information to be spread.

         “I know that this isn’t . . . _ideal,_ I guess, and maaaaybe just a little bit risky. But what would telling them accomplish outside of making everyone upset?” Joey asked.

          Not surprisingly, the toon rolled his eyes, “Gee, I don’t know, maybe make everyone be _careful_ and _stay away_ from the bloodthirsty monster?!”

          Which is the exact opposite of what they needed, but he doubted Bendy would see it that way.

          “I know this is a lot to ask, Bendy,” Joey said, looking the other in the eye, “But you were there when Henry agreed to this idea, too. And I know you can’t . . . trust the other one, but you can trust him. And you can trust _me._ Please?”

          Bendy’s frowned hard at him, and for a few moments looked as if he wasn’t going to budge on his stance. Then, with a deep sigh, the toon’s shoulders sagged, “I . . . do trust ya. But . . . I mean, sometimes yer ideas don’t always work out, Joey, and this one . . . seems like one a those.”

          Joey’s gaze dropped, rubbing the back of his head, “Well, I suppose I do have a . . . track record, don’t I?” he looked up sharply then, waving his free hand in front of his face, “ _But,_ I don’t think this instance is one of them! And I think this will be the best for everyone moving forward! At least . . . at least right now. We’re all . . . well, we’re taking it one step at a time, I suppose.”

          Bendy returned his stare, hard and scrutinizing . . . before he sighed again, just as deeply as before, “Geez, you really ain’t gonna change yer mind, are ya? How can ya be sure this won’t just blow up in our faces?”

          “I suppose you could call it a hunch. But beyond that, what I have been seeing so far has been promising. Really! And I know it might be hard for you to accept right now, but all I ask is that you give this a chance. Just one. Alright?” Joey pleaded, hoping this would convince the other.

          The toon pressed his hands together, closing his eyes and seeming to contemplate everything Joey had said very seriously for a few moments before pointing them at Joey’s chest, “Okay. _Fine._ I’ll go along with it. But you gotta promise me somethin’, okay?”

          Joey nodded, leaping on the chance for peace.

          That’s when Bendy’s expression hardened to a fierce degree, “If that thing does _anything_ , so much as _looks_ at anyone funny, then you gotta agree to give full disclosure to _everyone. And_ come up with some kinda back up plan if it does go off the rails to stop it from doin’ anythin’, a spell or a circle or _somethin’._ Capiche?”

          He can tell from Bendy’s tone alone that there was no chance of changing his ultimatum, absolutely none. Still . . . Joey supposed it could have been worse. Besides, he was sure there wouldn’t be any need for those things _now_ , so there wasn’t any need to change his demands!

          So, with a nod, Joey said, “Deal.”

          “Shake on it,” Bendy said, holding out his hand.

          Ah, he should have seen that coming. For as long as he’d been around, a handshake had been Bendy’s way of sealing an otherwise unbreakable promise or deal. And, Joey supposed he’d already committed to it, so he can’t exactly back out now, can he?

          So, after a silent moment of contemplation, he nodded once again and gave the toon’s hand an equally firm shake, “Alright.”

          After that, Bendy let loose a long sigh, shoulders sagging, the fierceness leaving to be replaced by a look of tiredness and worry, “Joey, I _really_ hope you know what yer doin’ this time.”

          At that, Joey gave him a small smile, reassuring, “I like to think I’ve done this enough times before to know how this works. And just give it time, Bendy. It might take a little while, but eventually things’ll go back to . . . well, perhaps not _normal,_ but something close to it.”

          Bendy did not look as comforted by that as he’d hoped, gently shrugging off the hand the man had placed on his shoulder as he turned away, “. . . yeah, yeah, let’s just get this over with.”

          Joey didn’t try to stop him as he walked away, disheartened, but not surprised. Beside him, Boris whined softly before looking his way, frowning, “Joey, do you really mean it? Do you really think things’ll be okay again?”

          Joey stood upright, cringing at the way his knees and hips protested as he did before looking back to the wolf, as sincere as he could be, “I think they will be. And . . . I understand if you aren’t too fond of this idea either, after everything . . .”

          “It’s not that!” Boris replied, shaking his head, “I’m just worried about how this is all gonna go, is all. And I’m worried about everyone else, too.”

          Joey smiled, something halfway fond, “Of course you are. But I think they’ll be unfounded. And . . . I hope once things calm down again, you’ll be able to give our new toon companion a chance.”

          Boris wrung his hands together, face thoughtful but also pinched with worry, “I . . . I would like to, Joey, you know I would. Its just . . .”

          “You don’t have to say anymore. And I can hardly blame you if you don’t. But those are all concerns for the future! For now, the only thing we have to worry about is what we’re going to tell everyone else!” Joey said, doing his best to put on a smile even though, internally, he wanted to find the nearest inactive closet and hide in it. Oh, everyone here was acclimated to strangeness, sure, but _this_. . . this was still a bit beyond the pale. And with so much he’d be glossing over, some . . . might not be satisfied with his explanations.

          But no, he needed to stay positive! It surely wouldn’t be as bad as his mind was making it out to be, he just . . . needed to be careful with his wording! Be _eloquent!_ That’s all!

          . . . he hoped.

          “Well, anyway, I should go and see to that! You, um . . . well, if you don’t want to be present for this, we’ll understand,” Joey said, mentally bracing himself for a very awkward and uncomfortable meeting. Oh, he did so wish he had had the time to call his Henry for some help, but he hadn’t. And even if he did, he doubted Linda would have been willing to let him go after he’d come home with a broken arm.

          “No, no, I’ll be there! I couldn’t leave ya to do all that yerself!” Boris said fretfully.

          “I appreciate it, Boris,” Joey said appreciatively, and with that, Joey gave the wolf a comforting pat to his head and began to make his way back to where the rest of his employees would be waiting. He focused on mentally running over what to say, trying to ignore the anxiety making a home in his gut. Oh sure, under normal circumstances he’s good at talking to a crowd and being on a stage was hardly a daunting task, but these were hardly normal circumstances and far beyond anything he’s had to explain before. He just hoped it all worked out.

           Its an easy matter of finding a group and telling them to begin gathering everyone in the staff meeting room, a request met with hushed and excited whispers as they broke off to do so. The same way they always acted when an explanation was to be had, as if it were any old supernatural drama. He wished that it was.

          Taking a breath to steady his nerves, Joey made his way to said staff room, trying to keep himself calm as people began to filter in. Bendy and Boris stood beside him, both looking nervous, but maintaining a more professional air honed after many, many years of practice. Many looked at them curiously, expectantly, and Joey did his best to make it seem like everything was okay as they began to fill the seats and clamor for space against the walls. No one’s calling for explanations yet, murmuring amongst themselves instead, which was a good sign. Means that while certainly strange, nobody’s been too thrown by what’s occurred and hopefully that meant everyone would be more willing to accept his explanations, bizarre as they would be.

          At least, that’s what Joey had thought, when a sudden stirring of activity by the doorways drew his eyes, and the eyes of many others. People were parting to the side quickly, hushed gasps rising up from the crowd as a single person marched through, a stormy aura emanating from them in waves as they made their way to the front.

          Joey felt his mouth go just a little dry when he recognized Norman. O-oh, he . . . he did _not_ look happy.

          “Uh oh . . .” Bendy muttered.

          _“Joey!”_ Norman shouted, and while he’s never as loud or as forward as someone like, say, Sammy, even Joey knows you’ve done something wrong when you’ve provoked Norman. He’s not sure _what,_ exactly, he’s done, but he had a pretty awful suspicion that he was not going in be in for as easy a time with the talking as he would have liked.

           “U-um . . . y-yes, Norman?” he started, attempting to smile while trying to subtly pull at the collar of his shirt, suddenly feeling very, very hot.

          The man stopped right on the other side of the podium, expression stormy, and up-close Joey can see that the man was looking . . . a bit roughed up compared to the last time he saw him. Which was not that long ago, so what in the world happened?

          In the back, he noticed Wally stumble in as well, sporting an icepack on his head instead of his usual cap.

          Its then Norman started speaking again, jabbing a finger pointedly against the podium, “Joey, you are gonna start talkin’, and you are gonna start talkin’ _now._ And don’t you even _think_ about glossin’ over any of this, no dodgin’ questions or half-assed explanations, or you ain’t gonna hear the end of it from me!”

          Genuine sweat had begun to gather at the nape of Joey’s neck, because for all its rarity, Norman’s wrath is still a sight to behold and terrifying to be the focus of, and he held up both his hands placatingly, “O-of _course,_ of course, I wasn’t going to do anything less!”

          Norman narrowed his eyes, “So you’re gonna explain what _exactly_ happened to the studio? You’re gonna explain what happened to _Sammy? And_ you’re gonna explain why they’re other toons in the studio, _includin_ g another Bendy that you had hiding away in _your office?”_

  
          All around, eyes were widening and people began whispering to one another urgently, shock rippling through the gathered masses, and Joey himself stood frozen, shocked. Is that how Bendy had managed to get out? When had Norman even gone to his office? Why did he leave his office alone and unlocked?! What had he been _thinking?!_ Oh, he knew this conversation was going to be tricky, but this was . . . oh, this was just _bad._ Not even five minutes in and everything was already going off the rails!

          _“You left your office door unlocked?!”_ he heard Bendy hiss behind him, voice strained with disbelief and anger.

          Joey couldn’t give him an answer thought, not right then, because _everyone_ was looking at him, the demands shining clear in their eyes, and stage fright isn’t really something he’s used to, but _boy,_ does he seem to have it right now!

          “Well?” Norman demanded, not having dropped his more intimidating stance.

          “. . . u-uh . . .” he faltered, acutely aware that he is very, very alone in this circumstance, and depending on how this goes, he could very well be dealing with an angry mob here in just a minute.

          But . . . he needed to get out something, he can’t just stand there in front of the others being mute and idle! He just . . . he just had to start _talking,_ and go from there. That had always worked before!

          So, he talked, “W-well, um, I’m sure all of you are quite curious, a-and I admit, there’s a lot that needs explaining! Which I will get to! Right now!”

          Norman was crossing his arms as several voices rose up behind him;

          “Quit stallin’!”

          “Why’s the studio a _wreck?”_

          “What’s that about another Bendy?”

          “Hop to it, Drew, what’s going _on?”_

          Joey held up his hands for silence, “Alright, alright, please, settle down!”

          The tumult ceased, fading into silence as the group all waited expectantly. Joey swallowed, but forced himself to carry on, clasping his hands together to keep from fidgeting with them, “Alright, so . . . as many of you are aware, we’ve had some . . . issues occur within the past few weeks. And, at some point, we . . . lost track of Sammy. Before I begin giving explanations, I would like to inform all of you that those issues _have_ been resolved, and that Sammy has been successfully retrieved!”

          Murmuring broke out again, until Norman frowned, brow furrowing tightly as he echoed, _“Retrieved?_ What the hell does that mean? ‘Retrieved’ from where, exactly?”

          “A-ah, I was just getting to that!” Joey said, mentally bracing himself for the next and probably hardest part of this whole spiel, “You see, some time ago I was . . . experimenting with a little magic, nothing to serious, when I made a . . . miscalculation. Two spells ended up getting . . . mixed together. And that caused, well . . . I suppose you could call it a rift.”

           More confused murmuring and equally confused stares, but thankfully no one interrupted him, “Now, I know that sounds . . . odd, but it’s really quite simple! To put it very simply, the two spells made a . . . _hole,_ in the studio. To another, alternate . . . world.”

          Hm, Joey felt like he could have phrased that better. A feeling not a moment later proved true as the doubtful murmurs soon rose up, and he held up his hands again, explaining, “I know that sounds ludicrous, but I promise this is the truth! That’s . . . why there are other toons in the studio, like our own trio, but . . . different! That’s where they’re from! Opening the rift again is what caused the mess! And, that’s where our music director, ah, ended up!”

          He’d hoped that would do it, but Norman was pressing a hand to his head and grumbling, irritated, “Boss, you _can’t_ be serious. _This_ is what you’re goin’ with?”

          Bendy stepped in then, waving the man down, “Hey, I know it sounds like a bunch a malarkey, but . . .” the toon sighed, “He’s tellin’ the truth. That _is_ what happened. Its why we were here all last week.”

          “We were fixin’ it,” Boris added, looking a little nervous before the agitated crowd.

          “Really, now?” Norman said, but with Bendy and Boris backing up his claims, the outright disbelief had faded into something a little more thoughtful. Until his expression hardened the slightest degree, “Alright, then answer this; what happened to Sammy? Why the hell is he actin’ the way he is?”

          More whispering, a few nods, and Wally’s voice unintentionally rising up over them from the back, “Yeah, he was actin’ like a real loon earlier. Talkin’ to himself, hittin’ the walls, the whole nine yards!”

          Oh . . . _shoot._ Bendy had told him that Norman had seen Sammy and the director’s subsequent (and undoubtedly uncontrolled) reaction, but he hadn’t been aware that _others_ had too! This could be . . . problematic.

          Joey stepped in before it could devolve any further, “Okay, settle down please! Like I said, Sammy was . . . displaced when the rift first appeared. And in that world, along with the toons, there were . . . alternate versions of people, too. You already met one of them! And-!”

          “What? Who?” Norman asked.

          “Well, Henry, of course,” Joey replied instantly, only to not a moment later realize that _maybe_ he should have eased into that a little better. Quickly, he tried to explain it a little better, “The man you saw before, Norman, that half of you saw, he was . . . from that other world, too.”

          “Uh-huh,” the other man hummed doubtfully, as were many, many others behind him, “And where’s our Henry, then?”

          “At home, right now.”

          Norman cocked an eyebrow, frowning, “Okay, fine, I’ll bite and say I buy it. But what does this have to do with what’s wrong with Sammy?”

          Joey squeezed his hands together just a little more tightly, not looking forward to this part, “A-ah, that, right. W-well, we, uh, we aren’t sure of the specifics of what happened other than that it involved that world’s ink, but there was a mishap, and, uh, our Sammy and that world’s Sammy sort of . . . fused, together.”

          Oh, it just sounded more and more ridiculous the more he spoke, didn’t it? But he can’t exactly lie about Sammy’s condition, not now, not when so many people had already seen him, could he?

          _“What?”_ Norman started in disbelief, “What does that mean, that there’s somehow _two_ Sammy’s in one body?!”

          “. . . yes?” Joey drawled with a half-hearted shrug, not sure what else to say.

          Behind Norman’s unbelieving frame, others had begun whispering again, hushed but clearly displeased.

          “Does he think we’re idiots or somethin’?”

          “I can’t believe he expects us to buy that . . .”

          “Betcha Sammy just cracked and they’re coverin’ it up!”

          “Hey, all of ya, settle down!” Bendy yelled over the unrestful crowd, “If we were tryin’ to pull the wool over yer eyes, we’d at least be classy about it! But we’re bein’ serious here!”

          “Can ya blame us for bein’ skeptical?” Norman demanded, switching his heated stare to the toon as all around people began to angrily rise out of their seats, “You’re standin’ there, tryin’ to convince us that somehow you opened a, a _portal_ or somethin’, to _another world_ , and expect us to just go along with that?! You can do a lot of impossible things, Joey, I’ve seen that, but this is just-!”

          “He’s telling the truth!”

          Everyone’s eyes shot to the door as another figure stepped inside, striding to the front with quick, purposeful steps, and Joey doesn’t think he’s ever been gladder to see Susie. He might be the boss, but a lot of people respected Susie and trusted her at her word, because the woman was never one to lie to when it was truly important. And, if Henry couldn’t be here to smooth ruffled feathers, then Susie would do just as good a job.

  
          “Susie?” Norman started, staring, before dropping is voice to a more hushed whisper, “What are you doin’ here? Aren’t you supposed to be with Sammy?”

          The woman glanced at him before responding with an equally quiet tone, “Alice is with him, don’t worry.”

          With that, she turned around to face everyone, standing confidently in front of all their stares, “Listen, I know that this is all a lot to believe! I know it seems impossible! But all of you here know that a lot of impossible things happen in our studio all the time! This is . . . just another one of those things! And I know it’ll take time to get used to it, but we’ve done it before!”

          People began whispering again, but it’s less angry and more uncertain. Susie had a good reputation around the studio, and he can see that while everyone’s still hesitant to believe it, there no longer refusing their story completely anymore.

          “. . . r-right!” Joey added, stepping up to the plate, “Please, none of us have any reason to lie about this! And if you have any questions-!”

          Immediately, several people spoke up.

          “So what the hell do we do now?”

          “What about these toons? They just gonna stay here?

          “Where are they anyway?”

          “Is there _really_ another Henry?”

          “And what about this, uh, ‘portal’? We just got a magic hole in our workplace, now? If it’s even real . . .”

          “The issue with the rift is _over._ No one will have to worry about anything untoward happening in the future in that regard. Now, as for the new toons and Henry, they’re here to stay. For now, at least. And I trust all of you to make them welcome!” Joey said, hoping his employees would do just that, “They’ve, ah . . . they’ve been through a lot, and some helping hands from all of you will make them more comfortable here. But don’t go seeking them out. They need some time to adjust, as this has been just as confusing for them as its been for us!”

           More muttering, but Joey carried on before any of them could grow annoyed again, “As for the studio, well, I’m sure you can see we have a lot of work to do. Again. Wally can begin seeing to clean-up-“

          “Yeah, yeah, yer the boss . . .”

          “-and once I get ahold of Thomas, we can begin routine repairs! Until then, the studio will remain closed until further notice!”

          Groans went around, the sort he had expected, and he said, “I know, I know, everyone was looking forward to getting back to work, but as of right now, we can’t. _But,_ we should be up and running soon!”

          “Said that last time, too . . .”

          “Think the studio’ll actually be fixed this time?”

          “Hey, quit with the sass, that ain’t what we pay ya for!” Bendy cut in, looking at the chattier employees sternly.

          That was when another person spoke up, a young hire working in the music department who was staring at him with curious eyes, “What about Sammy? You said he was . . . fused, or something? Is he . . . gonna be alright?”

          Others looked back as well, eager for an answer, and Joey . . . well, he put on a smile and said, “Not to worry, I’m already working on a solution! Might take a little bit of time, but our music director will be fine, never you fear!”

          Most seemed to buy it. Not the first time he’d fixed something that had gone wrong with Sammy in particular, after all. But inside . . . oh, Joey had no idea where to even begin. Souls were already a tricky business, and two stuck together? Even trickier. He’d try, of _course_ he’d try, but . . .

          Beside him, Susie abruptly cleared her throat, drawing everyone’s attention, “Alright, well, if there aren’t anymore questions, we really need to start focusing on getting the studio back on track, I think! Right, Joey?”

          “A-ah,” Joey nodded, seeing what she was doing and gratefully leaping on the opportunity to end this meeting, “Yes, lots to do, only so much time to do it! Thank you, everyone, for coming to this meeting, and I apologize for all the trouble this . . . situation has caused. But we’ll get everything up and running again before you know it, and things will go back to normal! Mostly! Until then, you’re all dismissed!”

          More grumbling, and Joey can’t exactly blame them. But, fortunately, thanks to Susie interference, it seemed a riot wouldn’t be breaking out today.

          “Well, ya heard the guy!” Bendy said, clapping his hands together, “If you ain’t cleanin’, yer goin’! Hop to it!”

          “We’ll get back to everyone soon!” Boris promised, trying for a gentler approach.

          There was a lot of irked muttering even still, a general sense of discontent hovering over the crowd even as they began to disperse into smaller groups, seeing as they wouldn’t be getting any more than that. Many looked back at Joey and the rest, eyes still full of questions, and he was sure many a rumor was going to be spread after today. Hopefully, though, it would be enough for most of them, especially as more time went by and they all grew used to this new situation.

          Most, at least. But unfortunately for him, his suspicions that there would be some who wouldn’t be satisfied with his explanations weren’t unfounded, as Norman had refused to move, arms crossed and glaring at him as the room emptied out.

          “Um . . . yes, Norman?” Joey inquired, though he had a pretty good idea of why he was still there.

          “Can it, Drew, I know you’re not sayin’ everythin’,” the man stated, unamused, “Why? If this . . . ‘other world’ is a real thing, what was wrong with it? And just _who_ are these toons? And this Henry?”

          “Ah, well, they-,”

          Before Joey could finish, Susie stepped in, placing a placating hand on the man’s shoulder, “Norman, I know you’re just worried. And that’s a completely fair way to feel after today. But some of the stuff from that side, its . . . it’s not really our place to tell it. And I wouldn’t press for answers too hard from our . . . new guests. For their sake. They only just got here, and an interrogation won’t make them open up to anyone.”

          “Alright, then what _can_ you say?” Norman said, not relenting the pressure one bit.

          Susie frowned sadly at the man while Bendy and Boris both glanced at one another before looking away, and Joey could feel the urge to fidget growing. This wasn’t a comfortable topic for any of them, and nobody seemed to really know what to say.

          Until, after a sigh, Susie whispered, “Bad. It was _bad_ , Norman.”

          That was all she said, but Norman seemed to sense the gravity behind her words, and the other man’s glare slowly relaxed, until concern took its place, “You’re bein’ serious right now, ain’t ya?”

          Susie nodded, and so did Joey, who tried to add, “It was . . . a rough few days, Norman. And it’s not that we don’t trust our people here, it’s just . . . there isn’t a point in bringing it up now, with the rift closed.”

          Bendy scoffed, but otherwise didn’t say anything.

          But thankfully, Norman seemed to finally see they weren’t being evasive for the pleasure of it, perhaps even understanding a little the severity behind the scenes. With a deep sigh, the man scratched at his head and said, “Alright. Fine. I won’t dig any deeper into this, but I do have one last question.”

          The group waited with bated breath as Norman looked at them, before finally putting it out for them to hear, “You weren’t just blowin’ hot air when you were sayin’ you had a solution for Sammy, right?”

          Oh . . . that.

          “Its . . . I do have some ideas, Norman. But the situation there is a lot more complicated than anything I’ve dealt with before, and I don’t want to rush it in case . . . in case something goes wrong,” Joey admitted, finding it difficult to look the other in the eye, “But I’m going to try, I _swear.”_

          Judging by the way Norman frowned, the man isn’t exactly satisfied with that answer. But he just sighed, “You better.”

          He turned and began to make his way towards the door, and Joey let loose a breath, feeling like he had somehow dodged an incredibly deadly missile. That is, until Norman glanced back and added, “By the way, I’m stickin’ around for a little bit. Don’t need nothin’ to go off the rails again.”

          Oh . . . boy. He’s using that tone of voice that brooked no argument. Now, Joey knows as the boss, he did have the executive power to tell the man to go home, but . . . Joey doesn’t really want to invoke Norman’s wrath again. Once was enough. He felt someone nudge his side, looking to see Bendy giving him a very pointed look, to which Joey, like a responsible adult would, shook his head.

          “Uh, that’s . . . kind of you, Norman, but there’s not much you can do,” Susie gently pointed out, perhaps seeing that both her bosses weren’t going to be of any help.

          Norman just huffed, “I know how to use a mop, Ms. Campbell. I ain’t just gonna be sittin’ on my ass doin’ nothing. Sides, your gonna have the whole cleaning crew here. You won’t even notice me.”

          And with that, the man left.

          Looks were exchanged between them, the air somehow feeling heavier even though everyone had gone. Perhaps it was the weight of knowing there was still so much more to do, but who could say?

          Eventually, in an attempt to be optimistic, Susie said, “Well, I guess at least no one rioted?”

          “Yeah, for now,” Bendy said, “But you know more than just Norman are gonna want more answers later. And who knows how the new guys are gonna take to gettin’ interrogated.”

          “We just need to make sure that doesn’t happen. Besides, once everyone gets more used to it, questions’ll start fading,” Susie said.

          Boris nodded, looking brightened by the thought, “Yeah, that’s what happened for all of us!”

          “But this ain’t like those times, Boris,” Bendy pointed out, “Its different. And it ain’t a good one.”

          “Well, whatever happens,” Joey gently interjected, “I think we’ll manage alright. For now, what we can do is get the studio up and running again. And after that, well . . . we just need to take it one step at a time.”

          And more than anything, Joey really hoped his words would be true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really makes you wonder . . . is lying so bad a sin?


	8. Too Many Ghosts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Too many memories, too much to bear
> 
> It reminds you how much the world is unfair
> 
> But against those tides of voices long dead

          The next hour must have been a flurry of activity outside, but within the confines of the ‘Quiet Room’, Henry found he could ignore most of it.

          Not that he even could pay it much mind. Not when he’s as occupied as he is with . . . well, he guessed a word for him would be his new ‘ward’. And while there’s that unspoken awkwardness between them, it became fairly obvious fairly quickly that, while still new to this whole affair and a bit wary of the world, Bendy still couldn’t sit still for very long. Soon the toon was meandering about the room, picking up knick-knacks and books and other paraphernalia and examining each one with an inquisitive eye. And, over time as the silence began to weigh a little more heavily, he began to ask a few questions. They came out cautiously at first, like Bendy was testing the waters of Henry’s patience, but when the man answered them without a trace of annoyance, he grew bolder.

          At least, until he found the window.

          As soon as the toon’s newly made eyes caught sight of the blue beyond the curtains, the sunlight slanting through the glass, he was transfixed in wonder. A wonder that only grew when Henry stepped closer and opened the window fully, allowing the outside world to trickle inside. Bendy didn’t ask him any questions then. He just sat with his knees tucked under him, arms crossed over the sill as he followed every meandering cloud, watched every twirling leaf, listened to every twittering bird, awed without fail every single time. Henry sat nearby, savoring the sunlight himself as it streamed inside, the faint breeze cool and crisp and clear. He’d forgotten how blue the sky was.

          And this was Bendy’s first time seeing it. The world he’d never known down in the darkness and ink.

          In the quiet that followed, it gave Henry time to contemplate everything a little more fully, a little more clearly. It was still so . . . _strange,_ this situation. To see Bendy, once a concept on paper, to a monster chasing him in corrupt corridors, to _this._ A living toon, with real emotions, confused about his place in the world but willing to try and find it, to make amends. To change in a way nothing had ever done down in the studio, for change was little more than an impossible dream there.

          But here, it wasn’t. Here, it was real. And Henry wanted to . . . _believe_ in that. In a way he hasn’t believed in anything in many, many years.

          “So . . .” Bendy’s voice broke through his thoughts, and Henry looked away from the sky to the toon sitting near him. The toon hadn’t looked away, voice low and in its own way, wistful, “That’s the sky, huh?”

          “Sure is,” Henry responded.

          Bendy nodded once, a finger tapping against the sill thoughtfully. Then, “Its, uh . . . big. Real big.”

          At that, Henry laughed a little, remembering when Al had said much the same. And truly, it must appear huge to those who’d lived in a cage their whole existence, “That it is.”

          “What, uh . . . what color is it?”

          “It’s blue right now, but it changes all the time. When the evening comes, it’ll be orange and red. And in the morning, it looks pink,” Henry explained, eyes traveling back to the sky.

          “Pft, yeah right, stop pullin’ my leg,” Bendy said, disbelieving.

          “It’s true,” the man replied, “And you’ll see that for yourself.”

          “Hmm . . .” Bendy’s tone comes out uncertain and a tiny bit suspicious, the tip of his tail twitching. But then, he was distracted by a bird as it flew passed the window, its song coming and going with the wind, watching it with wonder. After a moment of silence, Bendy glanced his way briefly, asking slowly, “Was, uh . . . was our world’s like this too?”

          Henry nodded, “It was. Most everything seems to be the same here, outside of . . . well, outside of the obvious.”

          Bendy still looked thoughtful, but now there was a sharp crease in his brow that wasn’t there before, mouth dipping into a slight frown, “. . . yeah. The obvious . . .”

          “Bendy?”

          His intonation was met with a droop of the head, the toon refusing to look his way, “. . . nothin’. It ain’t nothin’, Henry.”

          Henry frowned, but didn’t press. He had a feeling he knew what was troubling the other already, knew because he’s felt it himself the longer he’s been here. But there was no point in bemoaning what had happened to them, in bringing it up.

          Evidently deciding the conversation was done, Bendy settled back into silence to watch the clouds pass. Henry was content to let it be for the time being, settling to watch as well. For now, Henry decided it was best just to let the peace be, because he doubted there would be much of it once this place was working again.

          At least, there was peace until a sudden, intrusive knock sounded by the door, heavy thuds that echoed in the once still room.

          Needless to say, it startled both of them quite a bit. Henry, more used to unexpected intrusions, jumped only a little as he braced for action before all else, but Bendy . . .

          Henry’s not sure if its because the toon is still not used to his emotions or if it’s because he’s not used to his body, but either way, the other spun wildly around only to tangle his legs up in his tail, lose his balance, and begin to fall backwards.

          Right towards the window.

          It only Henry’s quick reflexes that the saved the day, flinging himself forward and grabbing the only thing he could reach as the toon began to vanish over the side with a startled cry; the end of his tail. There’s a pull as Henry feels gravity fight him for a few moments, but though there’s a pained and somewhat indignant yell, Bendy thankfully doesn’t fall any further.

          That was how Tom and Al found them as the wolf flung the door open unprompted, Henry awkwardly laying on his side with one arm outstretched to hold the toon, with said toon having vanished save for the wildly twitching tail tip in the animator’s hand.

          “Uh . . .” Henry murmured, for there’s not much else he can say to this.

          “Pull me up, pull _me up,_ _pull me UP-!”_

          The frantic shouting is enough to spur him back to action, and he hastily moved to pull the other back up. Its not difficult, thankfully, but the toon looked equal parts shaken, embarrassed, and pained as he rubbed his sore rump.

          At least, until he noticed Tom in the room, and froze. Just as the other started to growl.

          Ah, yes, Henry should probably deal with that.

          “Al. Tom,” he said, looking between the two as he stood up and surreptitiously slid himself between them and Bendy.

          Al, who’s eyes had been wide as she’d watched the spectacle before her, blinked and placed a hand the other’s shoulders, frowning apologetically, “Sorry, Henry. Tom . . . well, he was getting impatient.”

          “Ah,” he replied, nodding. He supposed he had been in here a while, and he probably should have updated them on the situation, “Sorry, I should have said something. But everything’s fine. Mostly.”

          “I . . . saw,” Al said, glancing at the window.

          Ignoring that, Henry carried on, “Listen, I didn’t mean to leave you both out of the loop. But nothing’s happened, really. You don’t have to keep standing outside, either.”

          Tom crossed his arms at that, obstinate. Al, on the other hand, said, “Well, we wanted to be ready in case . . . in case anything did. None of us know what to expect, not with . . . that.”

          Tom snorted, eyes fixed at a point on Henry’s chest, but he knew the other was scowling at the toon that hid just behind him, if only in spirit.

          “And besides,” Al continued, “We couldn’t just leave you.”

          Henry felt his lips quirk up just a little at that, “I appreciate it, but everything’s fine. I promise.”

          Al nodded slightly, but soon her eyes drifted from Henry’s face as she leaned just a little to her right, peering past his shoulder. Henry heard a _shft_ behind him, and a very, very quiet mutter of, ‘what are you lookin’ at?’

          Henry bit back a sigh as Tom began to growl again, holding his hands up to try and placate the wolf before he finally snapped, when another, albeit softer, knock sounded by the door. All three of them looked to the entryway only to see Susie staring at them from across the way, a somewhat apologetic look on her face.

          “Susie?” Henry put it to the question, curious as to why she was here.

          “Um, I’m sorry to interrupt, but could I steal you for a few minutes, Henry?” the woman asked, keeping her tone level and calm despite the obvious tension that was in the room.

          “Uh-,” before he could answer her, Henry felt a sudden, urgent tug on the bottom of his shirt, and he glanced back to see Bendy staring up at him with a note of alarm in his eyes. His eyes widened a fraction before turning back to Susie, frowning slightly, “Um, what’s this about? Is it urgent?”

          The woman grimaced, “A little? It’s Sam.”

          Ah . . . that didn’t bode well.

          Swallowing, Henry nodded, understanding now why she was here, “I see. Alright, I’ll be there, but if you could give me one moment?”

          The woman nodded, “Okay. I’ll wait outside.”

          He nodded to her before glancing to his two companions, signaling for them to follow her.

          “It’ll be fine,” he told them, and the two exchanged a glance.

          “Do you plan on leaving . . . _him_ , alone?” Al asked, a worried not appearing between her brow.

          Henry didn’t need her to elaborate, but he appreciated her effort in attempting to separate the demon and the toon, “I might. That’s what I’m going to talk about.”

          “Is it . . .” Al pursed her lips before leaning closer to him, lowering her voice, “Is it safe to do that?”

          Before Henry could answer, a voice rose up behind him, hard and bitter, “If ya thought I was still that dangerous, ya wouldn’t be in here, would ya?”

          Al frowned as Tom growled warningly, clenching his remaining hand into a fist. Hm, he was really going to need to talk to Bendy about not antagonizing others on purpose, if only to make his new job easier.

          “I’ll make sure he’s occupied. Don’t worry, he won’t leave this room,” Henry said, as peaceably as possible.

          The two exchanged another look, while behind him he felt the hand that hadn’t relinquished hold of his shirt pull even harder. Henry knew this might be risky, but if Sam was having another episode and he needed to calm him down, bringing Bendy would be the absolute worst thing to do.

          Tom growled again, sharper this time, before turning on his heel and stomping back out the door, fuming. Al watched him for a moment, then looked back to Henry, a small frown on her face, “We’ll be standing outside.”

          Once she left and the door was closed once again, Henry turned around to face Bendy fully, bracing himself for a tidal wave.

          He was not disappointed, “Henry, whaddya mean I’m stayin’ here and you’re leavin’?! Don’t ya know that as soon as yer gone, the others are gonna go and off me?!”

          Henry shook his head, “No, that’s not what’s going to happen, and I think deep down you know that. I don’t plan on being gone for long, but I need to make sure Sam’s alright, and you’ll be fine so long as you stay in here. The question is, is can I trust you to do that?”

          It’s a weighted word, ‘trust’. Its not one he throws around easily anymore, and with this toon in front of him, it’s a particular risk, for he has no idea how much the other will be willing to stay put. And not just in regard to his previous disposition, either, but Henry well knows that Bendy himself was written to be a naturally curious creature. If he really was more on-model now, then the temptation to explore and cause trouble would be strong for him. He can only hope a sense of self-preservation kept him from acting on those impulses.

          Bendy frowned, a look still most unfamiliar, but he seemed to be thinking carefully about what Henry had said. The man doesn’t miss the small trickle of ink that began to slide down the other’s brow, though.

          “How long are ya gonna be gone for?” the toon asked, looking at him plaintively.

          Henry could only shrug, “As long as I’m needed. I can’t say for sure.”

          Bendy crossed his arms and looked at his feet, evidently not pleased with that. Henry tried again, reasoning, “Listen, I know its not ideal, and I’d rather not leave you alone either, not after what happened last time. But if Sam is having trouble, I can’t just stay here.”

          “. . . yeah. No, I get it. Can’t exactly bring me along for that, I know,” Bendy said, tail drooping to the floor like a wilting vine, “Since that’s . . . my fault, and all.”

          Henry doesn’t say anything, because they both knows it’s the truth. And while the remorse he’s seeing is a good sign, that doesn’t change that the fact that Sam would undoubtedly ignore that sign in favor of violence right now.

          But while the toon at least understood that, that didn’t solve how he was going to keep the other occupied.

          Henry found his eyes trailing to the window again, gnawing on his bottom lip and trying to think of solutions, when a sudden idea occurred to him.

          “Hold on,” he told the other as he went to the nearby bookshelves, rummaging through it until he found what he was looking for. Once in hand, he walked back to a puzzled Bendy and held it out for him to see; a sketchbook and a pack of pencils.

          “You . . . want me to draw?” Bendy asked, a brow curving up in query as the ink slid back into place.

          Henry smiled a little, glancing at the sketchbook in his hand, “Well, I know for me it’s a good way to pass the time. It might be for you, too.”

          Bendy frowned a little and he looked away, and at first, Henry thought he disliked the idea. Then, the other spoke, “Yeah, hate to break it to ya, but I don’t . . . I ain’t ever . . .” the next words came out mumbled, head hunkering down into his shoulders, “. . . I dunno how to draw.”

          “That’s alright,” Henry said, “We all had to start somewhere. You can just draw what comes to mind. Or, you can look outside and just . . . draw what you see. It doesn’t have to be anything fancy.”

          He held it out again, and the toon looked hesitant, glancing from the window to Henry to the book and back . . . until, finally, he reached out and took the offered items in his own hands. He spent a few moments just looking at them, before gingerly opening the book to the first blank page. Taking one of the pencils, Bendy waggled it between his fingers contemplatively, before bringing it down and drawing one, solitary line across the page. Then he added another. And another. And with every one, the toon gradually grew more and more focused, peering closer and closer until it seemed his face was buried in it, sitting back down on the bench as he dragged the pencil this way and that.

          Well, that certainly seemed to work.

          “Okay,” Henry said, straightening, “I should probably get going. You’ll stay here, right?”

          Bendy’s head shot up again, like he’d forgotten Henry was leaving. But after a moment, the toon said, “I mean, where else can I go, huh? Not like the mutt’s gonna let me out . . .”

          “I’ll make sure Tom leaves you alone,” Henry promised as he turned to the door, making ready to leave.

          A small tug stopped him, though, and he glanced back to see the toon looking up at him with wide eyes. Bendy let go quickly once he turned around, as if embarrassed at having done so. Still, after a moment, he asked softly, “Ya promise you’ll come back, right?”

          Henry’s eyes widened a little. Then, with a surge of understanding, nodded and said as sincerely as he could, “I promise.”

          Bendy stared for a moment more, but then nodded and looked back to his drawings, though not before muttering another quiet, “Ya better . . .”

          Henry nodded one last time. Then, bracing himself for whatever would happen, he turned and headed out the door.

          Susie was waiting as she’d promised, and she was up as soon as she saw him, plainly eager to get going, “Are you ready?”

          Henry nodded, but quickly asked, “Yes, but can you tell me what this is about? What happened?”

          Susie sighed, then glanced at the other two toons who hovered nearby. Al only waved a hand at her, “I get it. Henry, you promise that our . . . ‘guest’, won’t leave?”

          Henry nodded, and she sighed a little in relief at that. Tom only huffed, then settled himself against one of the walls, eyes on the door and clearly uninterested in leaving his post.

          “Stay out here, Tom,” Henry said flatly, not interested in returning to a crime scene. Tom just angled an ear in his direction, focus entirely on the door, but at least he had acknowledged that Henry had spoken.

          After a moment, Henry glanced at Al, “Make sure nothing happens, please.”

          The toon sighed, “I’ll . . . try. But I doubt there’s much I can do if it . . . _he_ , doesn’t stay put.”

          “I don’t think he’s interested in being chased by Tom again,” Henry replied.

          “Alright. I think . . . I think we’ll be okay, then,” Al said after a moment, though she still looked nervous, “You go deal with Sam.”

          She grimaced then, “But, _please_ come back soon.”

          Henry nodded at her, inwardly hoping he wasn’t gone for too long as well, before following Susie down the hall. Though far quieter than that morning, Henry could still here the not-so-distant sounds of voices, shouting and jabbering and occasionally laughter. People working to clean the mess, he was told. Its still weird, hearing voices and knowing it came from living souls rather than spirits trapped in mires of ink. But crowds of people after so long alone still seemed . . . overwhelming, and he’s grateful that Susie led him around the throng of activity in quieter halls.

          Besides, he didn’t think he was ready to see so many dead faces again.

          “So, what happened?” he asked her, wanting to know the details before diving into the fray.

          Susie sighed, “It was this morning. We were going to the breakroom to get some food, and . . . well, Norman was there too, and Sam . . . he ran.”

          Henry grimaced, a bad feeling rising in his gut, “Ah . . .”

          “I’m hoping you can talk to him. He hasn’t been talking to me or Alice, and I’m afraid Sammy’s going to snap if someone doesn’t calm Sam down,” Susie admitted, readjusting her grip on a small white box she’d evidently been carrying this whole time, “You _know_ him. You know what he’s gone through. Maybe you can help.”

          “I see,” Henry said, thinking over what she’d said. Hm, he guessed it wasn’t too surprising that Sam had had a . . . less than thrilled reaction to Norman. Especially . . . especially if he was aware of what had happened to the man in their world. Henry really hoped he wasn’t.

          “I don’t . . .” Susie fell quiet for a second, seeming to think over what she wanted to ask before she finally continued, “I don’t suppose you know why he reacted that way?”

          Henry pursed his lips, pointedly looking ahead to avoid her gaze, “I can think of a few reasons.”

          He fell silent, until Susie quietly prompted, “And?”

          At this, he looked at her, voice level and carefully voided of emotion, “You sure you want to know?”

          She looked back at him, holding his gaze for a few steady moments before she dropped it all together, sadness clouding her expression, “. . . it’s nothing good, is it?”

          “No.”

          And that was all he said on the matter. The rest of the walk was one of silence until they reached the place Susie was leading him too. A place he hasn’t set foot in properly in quite some time; Sam’s own office.

          Outwardly, it looked the same as the one in his memories, though the blinds were down and the door was closed tight. No one else was around, and he watched as Susie went up to the door and gently rapped her knuckles against it, before turning the knob and stepping inside.

          “Hey,” she said as she went, a soft smile on her face, “How’s everyone?”

          “What do you think, Susie?” Henry heard the bitterly sarcastic voice from where he stood easily, and knew immediately that it must have been Sammy.

          “Right, right,” Susie said, nodding, “Well, it’s a good thing I brought some help.”

          Ah, that was his cue. Bracing himself, Henry stepped in beside Susie and waited for the reaction.

          Sammy was sitting across the way in what Henry assumed was ordinarily his office chair, and in front of him was Alice, who looked fretful. And when they saw him, both gave him equal looks of relief.

          “Oh, thank goodness,” Alice said, placing a hand over her heart.

          “Finally,” Sammy breathed, pointing at himself and looking a just a touch desperate, “Henry, you gotta get this guy to shut up.”

          “If he wants to talk, I’ll try,” Henry replied, crossing his arms.

          Sammy opened his mouth to reply, when his face flinched for a moment before settling on something more wide-eyed and shaken. He suddenly rushed forward, grabbing Henry by the shoulder and shouting, “Henry, did you know?!”

          “Sam-,”

          “Did you know who they were?!”

          “Sam, I know!” Henry’s voice dropped after that, giving the man a very meaningful look, “I know.”

          The man’s eyes widened, then dropped, and it’s not much longer when his face grimaced and he backed up, a hand going to his head, grumbling, “Stop hijacking my body without my say-so . . .”

          Quietly, Henry looked to the two beside them and nodded towards the door. Both girls’ faces had fallen in the silence, but Susie nodded despite undoubtedly wishing to stay. It was then Alice nudged her, and once she had the woman’s attention, gestured to the package she’d been holding.

          “Oh!” Susie started, before clearing her voice and holding it out to Henry, “I got these for Sammy. But I wasn’t sure what Sam liked, so there’s a lot there. More than one person can eat anyway.”

          Henry blinked, curiosity niggling at him, and he gently took the package from her. Once he’d taken it, Susie looked back to Sammy, smiling encouragingly, “We’ll be nearby, if you need us.”

          Sammy only gave her a nod, but that was good enough for the two it seemed, for after one last pleading look towards Henry, they exited out the door and shut it behind them with a _click._ Leaving the two of them alone, in silence.

          Sammy didn’t seem interested in breaking it, so Henry took the lead, “Why don’t we sit down?”

          The other man gave a gruff nod before agitatedly walking back to his chair and plunking down into it. Henry took the nearby stool, setting the box down on the desk as he turned to face Sammy more fully. The man had steepled his hands together and had pressed his eyes along the edge of his index fingers, thumbs pressing into his temples like he’s battling as particular bad migraine.

          Henry gave him a couple of moments to let him sift through whatever he was going to say, when the man suddenly breathed to himself, “Yeah, yeah, quit whining . . .”

          “Sammy?” Henry questioned, though he figured he knew who the man was talking to.

          The other man sighed heavily, then dropped his hands and looked his way, iris seeming to glow in the shadows that cut across his face. A frown is there . . . but it’s a little different from before, and Henry leaned back, asking again, “Sam?”

          The man’s eyes narrowed the slightest amount, then he nodded, looking back down to the desk as he folded his hands together, “. . . you knew?”

          “I do if we’re talking about the same thing. And . . . I’m pretty sure we are. You saw Norman,” its not a question, but a statement, and Sam flinched from the name like it was a physical slap.

          Taking a shaky breath, clasped hands fidgeting where they lay, Sam replied, “I did. He spoke. And his voice . . . I heard his voice . . .”

          Calmly, Henry asked, “What do you mean, Sam?”

          “I . . . I heard his voice before. In _our_ studio. In . . .” the man trailed off, bringing a hand to his face as his other clenched into a fist. He’s silent for a few moments. Then, “Henry . . . do you know the Projectionist?”

          Henry winced, “I do. I know.”

          “I didn’t. Not until then,” Sam shuddered, “And there are others too! Other people here, who’s voices sound like the ones in my flock! And they’re still _there,_ Henry! On the other side!”

          Henry’s face had fallen into a sympathetic frown, and he reached out to place a supportive hand on the other’s back. Sam thankfully doesn’t shrug it away.

          “Its not fair,” the man continued, growing more frenetic as both hands went up to clasp the sides of his head, “It’s not fair, it’s not fair, it’s _not_ _fair-!”_

          Henry increased the pressure on the man’s back, leaning forward, “No, its not. Its not fair at all. But there’s nothing we can do about it, Sam, not without getting trapped again ourselves. I know its painful, but we have to keep going.”

          He hated saying it, but it was the truth of how he felt. He wished he could, but the fear remained that if they tried to do anything about the ones that remained, tried to intervene at all, Joey would find them again. Then it would be over, and they would be trapped. _Again._

  
          Just thinking it made ice trickle down his spine, and he can’t suppress an involuntary shiver.

          Silence settled between them, save for the ticking clock and the distant sound of voices. Every time there was a laugh or a bellow, Sam would flinch, looking tired and like he’d rather be anywhere else. Henry can’t fault him for that.

          Its then the man mumbled, so quiet Henry almost missed it, “There’s too many ghosts here . . .”

          Henry’s frowned dipped more, sad, but understanding. Its exactly how he had felt seeing so many faces he’d never thought he’d see again, after all, and Norman’s had been a particularly hard hit. He’d been a good man . . . a good man who hadn’t deserved what had happened to him.

          “Yeah. It’s horrible, and it’s hard, and I’d rather be anywhere else too. But we don’t have a whole lot of options, at least right now.”

          Sam didn’t respond, just looked at the desk with sad, weary eyes, hands listlessly falling back to the worn wood. Henry doesn’t take his hand off the other’s back, allowing the quiet to fall once more, hoping it’s comforting enough.

          As time marched on, Henry can’t help but fidget though, as his mind wandered to past events. And, with a surge of guilt, remembered something he should probably do before he forgot again.

          “I’m, uh . . . I’m sorry about what I said last night, by the way. That was uncalled for,” Henry said, apologetic.

           Sam lifted his head just a little, side-eyeing him, a frown decorating his face. And when he spoke, it was with a harder edge, “Why? Why side with it, after everything?”

          Henry didn’t allow his gaze to wander or flinch, answering as resolutely as he could, “Because I saw change in him. Just like I see it in you. And if things really were the same, you know we’d be dead by now.”

          Sam’s frown deepened, but he gave a slight nod, “I suppose that’s true.”

          “But this conversation isn’t about that. I just wanted you to know that I’m sorry about what I said. It wasn’t fair to you,” Henry said, and he meant it. He’d been exhausted last night, but is that ever an excuse?

          Sam looked away once more, but Henry could feel a small amount of tension bleed from the other’s shoulders, even as he said, “. . . I guess it doesn’t really matter, does it?”

          Silence, once again. Henry’s not sure what to say beyond that, because this isn’t exactly a pleasant topic, and he’s not sure that Sam wants to hear any more of it. But the quiet would only grow heavier the longer it went on, and that’s not a weight he wants on either of them.

          Then, his eyes fell on the box resting on the desk, and his face brightened when he realized a solution was staring him in the face. With a gentle push, he slid the object over to Sam, who glanced at it when it entered his periphery.

          “Susie brought this, remember? Said it was for you,” Henry explained, leaving it there to let Sam decide what he wanted to do with it.

           The man’s brow quirked up in puzzlement, glancing Henry’s way once before pulling the box closer, examining it. Evidently, curiosity got the better of him, as after a few cursory moments, he grabbed the bottom of the lid and flipped it open to peer inside.

          Sam’s eyes blew open, mouth dropping just a little in shock. Curious himself, Henry leaned over to peek inside, and felt his own eyes widen when he saw what lay there; a rather startlingly large pile of different croissants, ranging from sweet to savory, the faintest hint of steam rising off of them still. And smelling _very_ good, to be quite honest.

          Then, far faster than Henry anticipated, Sam suddenly reached inside, snatched one of the croissants on the very top without seeming to care what kind it was, and immediately began to shove it into his mouth.

          “Uh, Sam-?” Henry started as he held up a hesitant hand, a little alarmed as he watched. Sam had already shoved half of it into his mouth, looking like he wasn’t even really bothering to chew as he focused on getting as much of it as he could inside.

          It does not surprise Henry at all when the other inevitably began to choke, and he hastily beat his hand against the other’s back, wincing.   

          The other coughed, when a hint of a snarl appeared on his face, choking out an angry, “Are you-*cough*-trying-*hack*-to kill me?!”

          Hm, guess Sammy wasn’t too pleased with that. Henry kept up the rhythmic thumping, as there was no water around to give the man, until slowly the coughing fit subsided. But its not very long when he looked up again, a distinct shine in his eyes as he reached for another one. In the same instant, his other hand came up and slammed down on the reaching one, and he growled, “Oh no, you are not suffocating me again!”

          The man frowned hard, expression shifting into one of borderline petulance, “Its good!”

          “I don’t care, eat like a normal person!”

          “Alright, I think we need to calm down,” Henry said, intervening by nudging the box a little further away from the two.

          Sammy glared at him, pointing, “You saw what he did!”

          Henry looked at him, saying softly, “Can you blame him?”

          At that, Sammy frowned, and he held up his finger and opened his mouth to retort . . . when he growled lowly and dropped his hand altogether, pointedly looking away. After a few moments of quietly sulking, Sammy then reached into the box and angrily took a bite, chewing and swallowing before saying, “That’s how you’re supposed to do it, you moron.”

          Evidently, that was all the point he wanted to make, as the man’s shoulders suddenly sagged and his expression shifted into something less angry.

          “Sam?” Henry started, ready to stop the man if he tried to wolf the food down again. He _got it_ , he absolutely did, but it wouldn’t serve anyone if he choked to death.

           But thankfully, Sam seemed to get the memo, and though the bite he took was still a little on the large side and still quite rushed, he waited to chew and swallow, seeming to savor it more than the first time.

           Silence. Then, “Its good . . .”

          Hastily, he took another bite and chewed, staring at the wall with distant eyes. Eyes that narrowed just the slightest amount, and soon shining with something more than just want.

          Henry watched as Sam lowered his head, face wavering between something nostalgic and something sad, “I’m . . . very lucky, aren’t I?”

          “We both are,” Henry replied, for that was the truth.

          It didn’t cheer Sam, but he must know that there’s nothing more they can do about that, so he took another bite instead. Henry leaned back, wondering if perhaps he should depart and leave the man in peace and go check on his new ward, when a soft _shft_ distracted him.

          Glancing down, he saw with some surprise that the box was now closer to him, as well as Sam’s retracting hand. He wasn’t looking at him, but even though his words were soft, they were clear, “There’s a lot here. You can have some, if you want.”

          He said nothing more, choosing to finish off his croissant instead, but he hardly needed to. Henry looked at the box himself, inwardly debating what to do. On one hand, he should check on Bendy. But on the other, well . . . Sam was giving him a peace offering, and Henry’s aware enough to know an unspoken request for company when he saw one.

          And maybe it’s a little irresponsible, but . . . those croissants sure smelled good.

          Just a few more minutes wouldn’t make much of a difference, would it?

         So, accepting the offer, Henry plucked one out and bit into it. The breading was wonderfully crisp on the outside, but soft and warm within, the taste of cheese and chive flooding his tongue, and he can’t help a small smile.

         They sat like that for a while, and thought its quiet, its companionable. It reminded him of times long ago, eating in the breakroom with his coworkers. It’s a bittersweet feeling, but doing this again with someone who he had believed was gone for good brought something warm, as well.

          Henry found that he liked it. And even if there’s more ghosts in these halls than he’d like, it was nice to know he wasn’t alone in facing them.

         And as they ate together, he wanted to believe that Sam felt the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It sure is nice to know you have a friend


	9. Creator, Creation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much time spent with hate as your fire
> 
> The only light in your darkness filled with ire
> 
> Being only the mistake, the product of another's sin

_It can’t pinpoint when, exactly, it began to grow violent. When it started to lash out and injure others, taking something from the screams that one might say was pleasure, the closest it’s ever felt to feeling ‘alive’. Such a simple, animalistic urge that seemed to grow stronger whenever the Ink frothed within its mechanical prison._

_That was when they brought the chains. Corralled into a dark room, heavy links of solid metal digging deep into it’s inky flesh as they were fastened to the wall, the faceless employees working fast. And then, when all was said and done, it was abandoned once more, with nothing but the walls for company and the gathering dust as it's only record of the passage of time._

_At least, until one day the door to it’s cell opened . . . and a man walked in. A man it had only had the pleasure of meeting one other time in its whole existence, but a man it remembered just the same._

_Joey Drew._

_It doesn't move. It merely watched, and waited. It’s creator did likewise, and even though his form is mostly a blur, it still felt his stare, a stare that held an air of detachment, a smartly pressed suit and cane giving him an aura of control, his unbothered stance the image of invincibility._

_If not for these chains, it would prove in a heartbeat that putting on airs wouldn’t protect him from the monsters he’d made._

_Alas, the only thing it could do was stare._

_Then, after an eternity, its creator finally deigned to speak, “Well . . . I suppose a hello would be a bit pointless right now, wouldn’t it?”_

_It doesn't say anything. It can’t. So it just listens instead._

_“It’s been a number of years since you were created. Though I guess you wouldn’t understand what that means,” the man said, a finger tapping along the polished cap of his cane._

_Only in the vaguest sense. Not that the man really cares, it’s sure._

_“You’re probably wondering why I’m here,” Drew said, after several heavy moments of silence. He wrapped his free hand around the one on his cane, leaning against it more strongly than before. It saw something then, too; a tremulous shake in his fingers that it hadn’t noticed before, and the man heaved a sigh before continuing, “To be honest . . . I wish I knew myself. Maybe inspiration? Or maybe I’m just a glutton for punishment. Either way, I suppose I’ve put this off for long enough.”_

_Oh, is that all? How boring . . ._

_“You know, this was all supposed to turn out a lot better than it did,” its creator admitted, a rueful smile on his face, “It all was supposed to turn out so much better . . .”_

_What’s ‘better’ to its Creator? It couldn't know the specifics, but it knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was at the top of the list._

_The man carried on, seemingly to himself more than anything, which wouldn't surpise it, “And now everything’s just . . . falling apart, and nothing seems to be fixing it. This was all supposed to be something magical! Something no one else on earth could claim they accomplished! And yet . . . here we are. Drowning in debt and ink, with workers on the verge of rioting and the Machine spinning out of control! If only Henry hadn't-!”_

_He bit off his rant with a sharp sigh, smile having fallen as he glared at the ground. Tiny cracks had begun to appear in the man’s carefully controlled facade, enough that it could see the shift it his demeanor, the defeated stoop in his shoulders . . ._

_Heh . . . seemed like it wasn’t the only one having a hard time. It makes something stir inside it, the same it felt when it heard the screams from those that had imprisoned it._

_“Can you even understand me?” its creator asked eventually, turning his gaze up to meet it, “Does anything I say even make sense to you? Or are you really little more than a_ beast?”

_No answer. It had none to give, and it didn’t care to give one anyway._

_“Hmph. I suppose that’s not surprising,” the man said after a moment, and it could see it in his eyes then; the same disappointment that had been there at its birth. That sharp, cutting disapproval that had haunted it’s every step. The man sighed again, bringing an admonishing hand up to his face, “I suppose I should have known better. Just another waste of time . . .”_

_Drew turned his back just the way he had done what must have been so long ago, readjusting the spectacles on his face and squaring his shoulders back into that untouchable facade. The dismissive action made something burn in its chest, something that made it want to break these chains apart and rip the man to pieces._

_But even as he left, closing that heavy door shut and driving the heavier bolts home, it can’t help but wonder at this . . ._ shift.

_Something was changing. It could feel it. It couldn't say what. But it knew._

_And maybe, just maybe . . . it would get its long wish; to make the man who had made it suffer just the same._

_

It was still strange, going by ‘Bendy’ after so long of that name being nothing more to him than a mocking epitaph of everything he had failed to emulate. But Henry seemed to have no issues with using it, and coming from the older man, it felt like it . . . fit more.

And Bendy liked that. 

What Bendy sure _didn’t_ like, however, was bein’ left all alone knowin’ that that mutt was outside ready to chomp him in two should he even _try_ to peek outside! So annoyin’ . . .

Not too mention that the only familiar thing in this whole studio that was also probably the only person that really understood him had left him alone in the first place! What was the guy thinkin’?! So many years stuck in hell cause a one guy you thought was a friend, you’d think Henry would have learned that you can’t just trust others like that!

‘Can I trust you to do that?’

Bendy frowned again, the tip of his tail twitching with irritation. He guessed the old man really was an idiot. Why else would he trust _him,_ of all things? And ask for it in return? How did any of them even know that he was capable of that?

Sure, he . . . he _wants_ to be capable, to be worthy of the trust Henry seemed to be placing in him while he fixed the toon’s numerous mistakes, but it's not like he’s got anything to go off of, had anyone to teach him what that’s supposed to mean. 

And Henry’s been gone for so long now, it seemed, and the temptation to just get up and search himself is starting to become harder and harder to ignore. Bendy knew it was a bad idea, he _knew,_ but . . .

“Okay, okay, okay, before ya get any more dumb ideas in yer noggin’,” he muttered, pressing a hand to his face as if to stifle the urge to leave as he hastily tapped the end of his pencil against the sketchbook, “Henry promised he’d be back. And the guy’s a lot better about keepin’ em than he’s got any right to be. Just relax! Draw some more pictures. He’ll be back.”

Still, Bendy found himself lookin’ back at the door anyway, only to have the fleeting hope that it would open right then fade when nothing happened.

Brow cinching together with disappointment, he looked back to the semi-blank page he held in his hands. Several circles and lines stared back at him, beginning to gather shape with each new addition. It wasn’t as hard as he thought it would be, drawing. It helped that he could just look outside and pick something to draw rather than come up with it himself. Birds were quickly becoming his favorite subject.

He just needed to focus again, and . . . draw.

And in his defense, he _tried._ He _really_ did.

But with every other line came with it another glance at the door, another restless fidget on the bench, one more scowl on his face, dragging the pencil around with more and more force until-

_RIP!_

Bendy started upright, staring wide-eyed at the tear in the page where his drawing had once been. Then, with an angry huff, he snapped the sketchbook shut and threw it the side, crossing his arms over the sill and dropping his head into them. The bird he’d been tracing hopped along the branch it was perched upon before taking flight, vanishing into the sky. He followed its passing with a vexed stare, until the only thing he could see was the bright expanse of blue above him.

It still looked so . . . big. And the world below it, so . . . _open._ Really makes a guy wonder just what was out there . . .

But Bendy knew how stupid a move like that would be. It's not like he knew anything about it, and Henry wasn’t around to teach him.

. . . just where was the old man, anyway?!

Growling a little, Bendy looked back at the door. His fingers drummed against the sill furiously, tail lashing over the bench as he fought over what to do.

One one hand, he’s been waiting for what feels like _forever,_ and he was starting to grow antsy. But the other, well . . . what can he do? Go outside? Where the mutt was? Yeah, that’ll go over _real_ well, he’s sure . . .

Still, just sitting here is _killin’_ him, and he can’t do this for much longer.

So, after a second, Bendy muttered ‘ah, forget it’ and finally stood up. He very slowly walked to the door, keeping his footsteps light over the ground, which came much easier now that one wasn’t twisted to hell. He looked the polished wood over, the gleam of the varnish appearing somehow threatening the closer he came to it. When at last he stood before it, there’s a moment’s hesitance as swallowed very nervously, allowing himself a second for it to sink in how stupid this was before finally leaning forward and pressing an ear to the door.

On the other side, just barely, he could make out a voice speaking softly. He can't understand what’s being said, but he recognized the voice of the other ‘angel’ clear as day. Which meant the mutt was undoubtedly still outside too, damn . . .

Didn’t sound like Henry was out there either . . . should he try peeking? No, that’d be dumb, even for this. Could he knock? Mm, that also sounded stupid . . .

Its then he became aware of the sudden quiet on the other side of the door, the angel having stopped speaking. Raising a brow in curiosity, Bendy leaned forward a little more, tail rising up behind him as if curious itself, straining to hear.

Nothing. Huh, he wondered what-

_BANG BANG BANG!_

The door frame shuddered so violently it actually _bent in_ , and Bendy rocketed back with a startled shout, diving under the table far faster than he’s ever done anything before. He must have dove with more force than he’d anticipated, too, because above him he heard the loud clattering of objects being knocked from their perches, a cacophony of destruction that this time was quite accidental. The growling on the other side told him that he had _definitely_ been found out, just as the angel started to interject, alarm clear in her voice.

Bendy stayed firmly put, hyper-aware of his surroundings and shaking just a little, watching the door. Oh, why did he think he could get away with that, that dog’s nose was more than just for show! 

But thankfully, the pounding stopped and the door remained closed, and slowly, Bendy’s shaking subsided as a tense peace settled over the room.

Quietly, Bendy crept back out into the open, warily eyeing the door and poised to retreat back into shelter should it open. But it doesn't. 

. . . well, guess that option was out.

But that didn't leave him with any more of an answer on what to do. Henry hadn’t been out there, so just where was he?

Bendy glanced at the window, but quickly dismissed it. Leaving the building altogether was just a dumb idea, and hell, even if he managed to get outside, how was he going to get back in? Especially without being seen?

Plus, his recent fall out of it was still fairly fresh in his mind, and he’d rather not do that again.

But if he couldn’t use the window, and even peeking outside the door wasn’t an option . . .

For a moment, his shoulders sagged. Then, he held his arms out and fell backwards onto the carpet in defeat. 

Well, this just sucked.

He stared up at the ceiling, frowning and upset and hating how big the room was right then, because the size reminded him that he was the only one in it. How much longer was the old man gonna be?!

Its then he saw it. Right above him, embedded into the wall, a sheen of something metallic that caught his eye. 

A vent. Small by most standards, but for him . . .

Bendy sat upright, crawling closer to the wall and scrambling up the side of the couch quickly. Standing along the back edge of the couch on his tip-toes, he could just reach the edge of the vent. But trying to lift it presented a new problem; it was bolted shut.

“Grr, does everythin’ gotta be locked in this dumb place?” he muttered to himself, annoyed.

He knew he wasn’t strong enough to pull it open. And even if he was, it would make way too much noise, and the mutt would be breaking down the door before he could slip away. So this was looking more and more like another dead-end too.

Ugh, he used to be able to go wherever he wanted! Just slip into the Ink whenever or slide through the cracks in the wall like they weren’t even there! No door had ever been locked to him! And now he . . . now he . . .

. . . he . . . doesn't actually know if that’s impossible?

Could it be possible? There’s no Ink, not the kind he knew, anyway, but . . . but he still had his own, didn’t he? And maybe, just _maybe_ . . .

Well, no time like the present, right?

Determination sparked, Bendy grabbed hold of the grating and pulled himself up so he was fully facing the vent, peering within. Then, after a breath to steady himself, he closed his eyes and focused. Imagined sluicing between the cracks like he’d done so many times before, and appearing on the other side, whole. Then, he pressed his forehead against the grate. 

For a moment, Bendy felt his body grow cold, a chill that swept through his entire being as his perception of the world around him went hazy and numb. It felt like falling forward, weightless and unattached from the whole world, a cipher in the darkness. It's only a moment, but as soon as the sensation passed, his eyes snapped open and he gasped, blinking.

Just in time to see the lower half of his body reform back into solid shape, knees resting atop cold metal, and he turned back to see the glow of the Quiet Room on the other side of the grate bars.

After a few seconds of processing what he’d just done, Bendy grinned, triumphant as he glanced down at his hands, “Well, how about that! Guess I still got it!”

Still, as he glanced back at the room, he had to quash a sting of guilt. He was supposed to stay. But he just can’t do it anymore!

‘It's yer fault anyway, old man,” he whispered, head drooping, “You were supposed to be back by now . . .”

But he’d already made it this far, and he wasn't turning back. Besides, Henry can’t be too mad at him, right? Bendy was just looking for him, that’s all. Wasn’t tryin’ to start no trouble or nothin’.

With that thought in mind, Bendy set out. The interior was dark, but he’s used to travelling blind, so it wasn’t really a problem for him. He just used his other senses to follow the interweaving paths, looking through the other grates he came across in the hopes of finding Henry.

There’s definitely activity in the building still, but hardly like it had been that morning. Still, there were moments he’d end up just watching the people he did see as they cleaned the place up, working diligently with their hands and with tools to get the place in working order again.

Fixing the mess he’d made . . .

Stifling a sigh, Bendy pressed on, hoping some of the rooms would start looking familiar to him. But it just feels like he just kept getting more and more turned around. And he thought _his_ studio was complicated . . .

Maybe . . . maybe he shouldn’t have done this. How did he even get back? Oh boy . . .

“Jeez Louise, what a mess . . .”

“Well, at last it's salvageable! Doesn’t even look like anything was really broken!”

“Tell that to yer floor . . .”

Bendy froze, staring ahead at the faint glimmer of light that he saw. Oh, he knew those voices. He knew them _very_ well. Course, those _would_ be the ones who he’d find . . .

A part of him felt that he should just ignore what he heard and find his way back to the Quiet Room. But another part, well . . . that part of him was just so damn _curious._ Was he ever this curious before? He didn’t feel like that was so.

But that curiosity is what ultimately won out, and Bendy crawled forward until he was close enough to the vent to see into the room below.

Ah. He’s been here before too.

Joey’s office looked mostly the same as he’d left it; a chaotic mess. And within, he could see two shapes maneuvering through the mess, shapes that did not surprise him.

Seeing his counterpart again brought that same sting of bitterness it usually did, with his stupid suit and bow-tie, but it's still nowhere near as much as seeing Joey. Harmless as the old coot might seem, it was still _Joey._ And that always left a bad taste in his mouth.

His counterpart’s grumbling drew him from his thoughts, “Geez, I can’t believe you forgot to lock your door . . .”

Joey scratched at the back of his head, grimacing, “Well, there was a lot happening all at once . . .”

The man’s jaw clicked shut at the other’s hard stare, before quietly adding, “But you’re right, I should have been more careful. And I will be, in the future.”

His counterpart only sighed, “I hope ya mean that, Joey. Could do without any more nasty surprises, that’s for sure.”

The man nodded, setting a stack of papers he’d been collecting back on his desk, “I definitely agree! But I believe we’re past that stage now, since most everything’s out in the open.”

 _“Most_ everything,” his counterpart reiterated pointedly, “Except the fact that there’s still a _monster_ in the studio!”

Bendy flinched.

Joey waved his hands at the other, alarmed, “Bendy, please, not so loud.”

The other grumbled hotly to himself, throwing a broken plank of wood to the side, “Yeah, yeah . . .”

Joey watched the other with an expression that appeared sad. It's a look his own would never have sported in earnest.

“Bendy, I . . .” the man faltered, tapping the tips of his fingers together hesitantly. He opened his mouth, closed it again, dropped his hands . . . then sighed and said, “I’m sorry. I know this isn’t easy for you.”

His counterpart stopped what he was doing, sighing a little as well, shoulders drooping, “Think that’s everyone right now. But I promised I’d go along with it for now, dumb as it is, so I’ll go along with it. Don’t mean I like it . . .”

“I know. Which is why I appreciate the effort,” Joey said, and he sounded like he meant that. Bendy doesn't fully understand why, but he  _ hated _ how the man sounded like that, “But, and I might be off base with this . . . but is there something else bothering you?

His counterpart turned and faced the man fully, frowning, “Outside the obvious?”

Joey nodded, the sarcasm seeming to fly right over his head, “Of course! You can always talk to me, you know.”

“I know . . .” the other toon’s guard seemed to be lowering. Or maybe he was just tired, as he leaned back against the couch heavily as he brought a hand up to his face, rubbing at his eyes, “Look, I know ya keep tellin’ me ya think it's all better now and we’re all chums and all that, but I just can’t believe it. Not after everythin’. And I’m . . .” his foot was tapping against the ground rapidly now, all nervous energy as he crossed his arms tightly across his chest, “I’m worried that if yer wrong and we let our guard down, it’ll happen all over again!”

Bendy shrunk a little further back into the vent, tail curling around his legs as ink trickled from his brow. Yeah, he’s well-aware that no one trusted him or liked him, but his counterpart brought up things he worried over himself. Like what if this change was only temporary? What if . . . what if he did go back?

Joey listened, nodding in understanding, “Those are all reasonable fears. But I truly believe all your counterpart needed was the stability he lacked, and it seems to have worked! I mean, outside the violence, it was almost like when I first summoned you into the studio-”

At once, his counterpart was on his feet and facing the other man fully, shouting so loud it startled even him, “Me and that thing are  _ not  _ the same, Joey! There ain’t  _ nothin’ between us that’s the same!” _

The room fell deathly quiet after that, Joey staring in utter shock while his counterpart panted. Then, gradually, the toon’s eyes widened and he took a step back, turning away in embarrassment, “U-uh . . . sorry. I’m sorry. I’m just . . .”

Both his hands ran up his face from his chin to his horns, closing his eyes as he took a deep breath, “I’m just tired. I’m  _ really _ tired . . .”

Bendy remained crouched in the vent, watching now. At this juncture, he expected the older man to leave. Turn tail and wait until his creation was less volatile and more receptive to his words.

So it’s a shock when instead, Joey came forward and placed a gentle hand on the other’s shoulder, eyes filled with understanding and empathy, “I think you speak for everyone when you say that, Bendy.”

The other gave a noncommittal noise, still not looking up. It's not until Joey leaned down more towards his level, saying softly, “Say, why don’t we leave the cleaning for a little later and just take a few minutes to relax. I think we’ve earned it.”

“To do what? Everywhere’s a mess . . .”

“Oh, I was thinking maybe we could give Henry a call. Let him know what’s going on. And then afterwards, maybe a few songs on the piano, if you feel up for it,” the man supplied, and his tone has lightened a little more than before, gently persuading in a way that still left the option to say ‘no’.

But his counterpart doesn't say no. Instead, after another moment, he dropped his hands with a tired sigh and looked up at the man, “Ya know what, I might just take ya up on that offer.”

All the toon did was agree. But with the way the man’s eyes lit up, the smile that broke his face apart, it was like the other couldn’t have said anything better.

“Perfect! We’ll worry about this mess later, then!” Joey said, grinning ear to ear. Then, he did something Bendy’s also never seen him do; he gently pat the other’s back in a way that was encouraging but also . . . affectionate. 

It made something twist in Bendy’s chest.

“Yeah. Just don’t play Chopin again, ya really blew it last time,” his counterpart said, his own voice softening into something more teasing.

At that, Joey laughed, as sincere as the warmth in his eyes, “Haha, right! I think I learned my lesson, never you worry!”

And just like that, the two were gone. Off to enjoy themselves with things Bendy’s only just begun to learn about. 

Quietly, he leaned away from the grate, back thumping against the wall. Joey had certainly never offered to play songs with him like that. Had never pat him on the back, or smiled at him, or looked at him with any sort of affection like that, and that twisting feeling in his chest was growing worse and worse and he didn’t know what it was, just that it  _ hurt. _

He didn’t even realize he was crying until small black droplets splashed onto his hands, and he furiously rubbed at his eyes to banish them. 

Then, gritting his teeth to bite back a frustrated scream, he turned and fled back down the vents, not caring where he ended up so long as it was far from here.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You've never wondered before about what might have been


	10. To Be Kind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much has happened in so little time
> 
> Its almost dizzying the thoughts in your mind
> 
> You wonder what's next now, you wonder what to do.

With all the hustle and bustle of the cleaning crew, the idle chatter that filled the halls as people worked, most everywhere swarming with familiar faces, Boris could almost say nothing was out of the ordinary at all. Just another spill, like so many other days in the past, and walking amongst the throng made it feel like nothing was wrong. Everything as simple as freshly baked apple pie.

But no amount of familiarity could bury what had happened the night before. All Boris had to do was see the claw marks that ravaged the walls of the studio, and he’d remember, fighting down a shudder as he did. Most everyone just made jokes about it, and about Joey’s explanation. They saw no need to hide their skepticism, because how could they with an explanation like that, and they laughed it off like everything was okay.

But Boris knew it wasn’t. 

He  _ wanted _ it to be, he really, truly did! And Joey seemed to believe it would be okay, and Joey doesn't lie to them, so some part of it must be true, right?

But even if it was, the halls in his own home still felt too restrictive, too stifling, like something was always looming just out of sight.

But there wasn’t anything he could do about it, unfortunately. Just meander about, doing a lot of uncomfortable waitin’ and awkwardly dancin’ around people’s questions, which is already hard for Boris to do on his own, but it's even worse because right now it felt like he was downright lying to everyone, too! So much had happened that none of them knew about because it was safer that way, but upholding that secrecy was painful. It went against his nature.

So he guessed it's not a surprise when eventually, he caved and sought solace downstairs in the music department where the activity was far more subdued, just to spend a little time alone and give himself a breather. 

He’d like to be with his friends, but he knew Bendy was busy helpin’ oversee cleaning and Alice was preoccupied with Sammy and Sam, and might not have the time. Times like these, he really felt his pals absence, though . . .

Although, since it had been some time since that morning, maybe the music director was feelin’ a little better, and would be more receptive to some company, and Alice and Susie might appreciate it too. And Boris would really like to check on the man and see how he . . . well,  _ they _ were doin’. Their situation must be so rough on the two of them, especially Sam, the poor guy . . .

Gosh, just thinkin’ about what he might have gone through in that other world, as well as their other guests, never failed to put a sad frown on his face. To think that such a sad, miserable place could exist, and that all the people he’d known since being created were suffering terribly inside of it . . .

Boris whined softly even though there was no one around to hear him, ears and tail drooping low. Oh, now he’d just gone and made himself sad . . .

With a soft sigh, the wolf went ahead and made a left, walking down the hall with one half of his mind on the path and the rest with his thoughts. His plan hadn’t changed . . . he’d see if the music director was alright with spending a little time together later. Oh, and maybe he could give Henry a call too! The man’s absence had been felt strongly throughout the studio, and it felt like a vital support beam had been wrenched out of place without him around to help. Sure, there was . . . the other one, but . . . well, he didn’t seem all that interested in helping the studio. Not that Boris could blame him, not when his experiences here had been so terrible . . .

Besides, he was watchin’ over, erm . . . Bendy. And it was probably better for everyone that way.

_ -A shape looming in the dark, the flash of a crescent smile sending a chill down his spine, but not as much as the terrible roaring did- _

Boris squeezed his eyes shut, an unpleasant tingle running through his body from his toes to his ears, his fur standing on end as it rippled under his skin. No, he  _ really _ didn’t want to think about that. 

_ Joey said he was better now,  _ he reminded himself, trying to ignore how much it felt like the walls were closing in on him,  _ And he ain’t no liar. Things’ll be better now. They gotta be . . . _

The wolf sighed, shaking his head to pointedly banish those thoughts. He really shouldn’t dwell on them. Especially not if he wanted to see his friends.

But . . . but first, before he did any of that . . . he thinks he’d like to play a little music. From cartoon to reality, music has always been one of Boris’ favorite things. And whenever he felt a little blue, a little song perked him right up again. Wouldn’t do anyone any good if he showed up all glum and sad too. He wanted to cheer everyone up, not add to their burdens.

So, he headed to his own little office where his clarinet was stored, eager to just let himself get lost in some of his favorite melodies for a little while. Maybe pull out one of his sumi sticks . . . it’d been a while since his last, and last night had been  _ really _ long . . .

Boris found his office easily, and he felt a small flicker of familiar pride as he approached the door with its gleaming nameplate. This was his own space, and while he had always known he’d had a place in the studio, when he’d finally gotten his own office, it had felt so . . .  _ good.  _ Like it had cemented that place in stone, really made it feel like a home. And, if he ever needed just a few moments to himself, well . . . it was a great place to go.

Boris placed a paw on the door knob and was just about to turn it . . . when his ears flicked up, catching something soft emanating from the other side. Alert now, Boris leaned forward just a little, angling his keen ears forward to hear the noise a little more clearly.

Was . . . was someone crying? 

It sounded like it was so. It was fairly unmistakable, that soft, hitched, watery noise. Boris has heard it plenty of times in his existence, from stressed coworkers to his own friends. Even people who didn’t necessarily want to be found, like now it seemed. 

What they were doing in his office, he has no idea. But Boris can’t very well just leave, not when someone’s crying.

Suddenly, whoever was on the other side of the door gave a loud and sharp scream, one rife with frustration and hurt, followed by an even louder crash as something was thrown against the wall, glass shattering.

But what really made Boris really worried was the fact that he recognized that voice, and without pause, immediately threw the door open and ran inside, shouting, “Bendy! What's wrong?!”

Only to stop mid-step, frozen with a hand on the knob as Boris took in the scene in full; the vent from his ceiling stained black and hanging by a single bolt, his office chair on the floor, papers and pencils scattered everywhere, and, standing amongst it all . . . was Bendy.

But very clearly not the one he knew.

Boris had absolutely no idea how he’d gotten down here, and by himself at that, but that didn’t change the fact that he was standing  _ right  _ here, returning his shocked stare in full. 

There’s a momentary instinct for Boris then. The instinct to turn tail and flee, mind flashing with images of glinting claws and frightening laughter, the fur along his spine standing completely straight in reactionary fear.

But it's not an instinct he followed, because the unmistakable sight and smell of tears running down the other’s cheeks tugged at the strings of Boris’ heart in such a way that, for just a moment, the fear didn't seem to matter.

However, as it turned out, he wasn’t the only one with such an instinct, because not a second later was this strange version of his pal shooting to the left and scrambling up the side of his cupboard. 

“A-ah, wait, don’t-!” Boris warning came too late. The other toon’s scrabbling, speed, and awkward weight made the cupboard door pop open, leaving the other dangling even as the heavy object began to tilt ominously forward. Boris covered his eyes when he realized it was too late to stop what was going to happen, but he still heard everything; the enormous crash as the cupboard slammed into his desk, the contents within spilling raucously out onto the floor, and the startled cry of the other toon as he fell with it.

“Ow . . .” came a whimper when the chaos finally stilled, and Boris slowly peeked through his fingers to see the extent of the damage.

The contents of his cupboard were strewn all over the place now, his desk sporting a nice new dent as the other object rested heavily atop it, one of its doors swinging ajar while the other was pinned shut. And as for the other toon . . . he could just make him out on the floor beyond it, gingerly rising to his knees and rubbing his head in pain. But he snapped out of it quickly, eyes shooting to Boris once before he quickly clambered up into the interior of the fallen cupboard, vanishing from sight.

Hiding. Like . . . he was scared.

It's such an ironic thought it would have been funny in any other circumstance. That something once so frightening could be scared of someone like  _ him. _

_ But he’s not scary now, is he? _ Came the thought, and once it was there, it didn’t leave.

Boris idled in the doorway, wringing his paws together and at a loss for what to do. He knew that the responsible thing would be to go get help . . . but he found himself hesitating. 

For all his worries, and common sense tellin’ him to go inform the others . . . Boris can’t shake the memory of the tears sliding down the other toon’s face.

And he looked so much like his pal now, too . . . can he really just leave him?

He doesn't think he can.

So, swallowing heavily and mustering up what courage he had, Boris gingerly stepped into the room. He tip-toed around the mess, and a part of him felt he should probably be more upset over it, but he’s too keyed up with anticipation to really pay it much mind.

“U-um . . .” he started, hands clasped tightly to his chest, ears trained forward to catch even the softest sound, “Are you . . . okay?”

That was a safe question to ask, right? Even if a little silly . . .

. . . no answer.

The tension in Boris’ shoulders increased a fraction, and he took one more step forward, about to try again, when his foot brushed against something that tinkled below him.

Looking down, Boris saw shards of glass strewn along the wooden floor, along with a single frame that lay amidst the ruin. A familiar frame.

Hastily, the wolf knelt down and brushed the nearby shards aside, carefully picking the frame up and peering at it closely. The glass was shattered, only a few frial pieces remaining, and the upper right corner of the frame was split, but the picture within was thankfully undamaged; a picture of him, his toon friends, and Joey, standing in his office with smiles on their faces, many years ago. 

Boris ears fell a little, frowning sadly at the state of the frame, shaking his head. Then, without even really thinking about it, mumbled very softly, “Why?”

He flinched a little at his own question when he fully comprehended what he’d said. But a part of him, he realized, really wanted to know. Just . . . why? Why all this violence? Why the destruction? It's so far removed from who his pal was, in both reality and in the cartoon, and Boris just . . . couldn’t understand. 

But he supposed he hadn’t really been expecting an answer, because he jumped when a disconcertingly familiar voice rose up from the cupboard, filled with bitter humor, “Heh, ya already know why, Boris. I’m a monster. Or did ya forget?”

A monster? That had been . . . true . . . but . . .

“But it's different now, ain’t it?” he asked, tilting his head to the side, “I mean-,”

“Oh, just stop talkin’! ‘Different’? Everyone likes to throw that word around, but what does that even mean?! Was I just magically supposed to know?! Well, here’s a spoiler for ya, I  _ don’t!”  _ there’s a  _ thud _ as something hard slammed into the interior side of the cupboard, “I don’t know how this emotion stuff is supposed to work! I don’t know how to be trustworthy! I don’t even know how to DRAW! I don’t know how  _ anythin’ _ works! And stop tryna talk to me! The only reason ya are is cause I look like that pal a yours, but I’m not, and I’m never  _ gonna be!  _ So take yer sympathy with ya and  _ go play the piano with Joey or somethin’!” _

The silence fell heavily after that outburst, Boris left to stare in shock at the cupboard before him. But he still didn’t move, because even though its muffled by the wood, he can still hear it; that soft, muted sniffling that can only mean one thing.

He really . . . didn’t seem to have a clue how to control his feelings. When Boris had been summoned into the world, things had been a little confusin’ at first, but something about Joey’s magic had provided him and the others at least some knowledge of the world they now inhabited. They didn’t necessarily start from scratch, even if it had taken some time to adjust in this decidedly not cartoon world. Did the other really not have anything at all, even if Joey had used the same ritual? But then, his circumstances had been so  _ different _ from theirs. Maybe . . . maybe some things did get lost during the change. 

But the realization did bring some clarity to the toon’s reactions and outbursts. It reminded Boris of a young toddler throwing a tantrum, screaming and lashing out because they didn’t know how else to vent their feelings. Like that time one Ms. Mabel, one of their secretaries, had to bring her daughter to work because she couldn't get a babysitter, and as the girl had grown more and more stifled, she had grown more and more upset until she was deliberately wreckin’ things just to get her mom’s attention. It wasn’t until one of the other ladies present took to playing little hand games with her that she’d calmed down. 

Maybe . . . maybe this Bendy, for all he'd done wrong, just needed something like that too?

He’d been scary once. A monster, just like he’d said. He remembered very well. But Boris knew what he heard now. And for all his uncertainty, these tears were very real, he could tell. Which meant  _ somethin’ _ must have changed. Just like Joey said.

So, maybe . . .

Boris glanced once at the picture in his hands, then back to the cupboard, where those sad noises still emanated. Then, after one last deep breath to brace himself for whatever might happen, he walked over to the cupboard and crouched down next to it.

Within, he heard the noises cease. 

There’s another stretch of awkward silence, Boris shifting from foot to foot as he thought of how to break it. Then, because he’s always led better with his heart than his head, decided to let that do the talking instead, “So, um . . . I know ya just said to leave ya alone, but, erm, ya also seem real sad, ya know? And it don’t seem right to just . . . leave ya like that. And, listen,” he shimmied forward a few more inches, attempting to peer up into the dark interior of the cupboard with marginal success, “I get that all these changes are hard, and it's all confusin’. But it's okay to ask for help. Ya don’t gotta break stuff just cause yer upset.”

“Then what  _ am _ I supposed to do, huh? What’s-what’s the  _ right _ way to act when ya feel like this, cause I sure as hell don’t know! Not like anyone cared to teach me in the past, and this whole soul biz didn’t exactly come with a manual!”

He sounded so . . . frustrated. Maybe it was a little understandable. But Boris wasn’t sure what to say now, or how to carry forward, not when the other continued to be so vitriolic and unfriendly. Should he get help? Maybe the other Henry would be able to do more . . .

Then, against all of Boris’ expectations, there came a very quiet and tentative, “. . . m’sorry. Fer yellin’. And the mess. I just . . . I don’t know what I’m doin’ . . .”

Boris stared, scarcely able to believe what he had just heard. But then, a small, hopeful smile eked its way onto his snout. Apologies meant you knew you’d done something wrong, that you wanted to fix it, that you wanted to be  _ better. _

And if this Bendy wanted to be better . . . then that meant Joey had been right! He had _ changed! _

“Well,” Boris said, emboldened now, “Ya could ask me.”

There was a slight huff, “Ya sure? Yer still scared of me, I can tell. Not that I can blame ya . . .”

Oh . . . had it really been so obvious? It must have been. But, was he still scared?

The answer was ‘way less than before’, he realized, for the urge to run and hide had waned significantly. He wanted to believe that that was good. 

“U-uh, w-well, maybe . . . maybe just a bit.  _ But, _ I think yer really tryna be better, and what kinda guy would I be if I didn’t help someone who needs it?” He meant it sincerely, too. He hoped the toon hiding in his cupboard could hear that.

After a moment, there came what almost sounded like a soft laugh, but it was far too strained to be so, “Ya really are too nice for yer own good, Boris. Ya probably don’t need me to tell ya this, but I don’t exactly deserve it.”

“But you wanna change, don’t you? And if ya don’t understand how things work, then we’re supposed to help,” Boris explained gently.

“. . . I dunno how to change.”

“That’s when you ask for help. And sides, you’ve already been doin’ it, I think. You wouldn’t have apologized before, would ya?”

There’s a soft rustling within, followed by a quiet, “No. No, I wouldn’t have.”

Boris smiled a little, “See? Yer already changin’. It just takes a little time!”

“. . . ya sure are optimistic, ain’t ya? But then, I guess yer supposed to be,” came the other’s quiet comment.

Boris was about to reply, when a pile of papers sitting haphazardly on the edge of his desk chose that moment to fall off completely, scattering over the floor. The wolf looked around, noticing again the destruction in his room, scratching at his head, “Oh boy, I should probably start cleanin’ this mess . . .”

But, maybe the activity would be good. And he really should straighten it out. He didn't know what he’d do about the cupboard right now with its current occupant, but he’d think of somethin’, he’s sure.

But then, he heard a  _ shft _ next to him, and he looked back only to straighten with surprise when he saw a small shape drop out from the open door. The other toon didn’t quite look his way, hands still gripping the edge of the other door as if to scramble back in at a moment’s notice. But he must sense Boris’ eyes on him, as he mumbled, “Look, the whole mess was . . . my fault. So . . . I’ll help. If ya want.”

Boris stared. Then, with a smile he hoped came across as encouraging, said, “I’d appreciate it.”

And that was that. The other toon was a bit too small to help with the heavier stuff, but he gathered all the papers and pencils scattered around while Boris took care of that. And it was . . . surprisingly civil. A little awkward at first, sort of tip-toeing around each other carefully, but . . . that tension relaxed after a few minutes, and the routine of cleaning was a nice change of pace from dodgin’ questions. 

And from time to time, he got to examine the other a little more closely. Outside of his tail and more classical design, he certainly looked the part. An exact copy of his closest pal, even if it was only skin-deep. But he was good about remaining on task like his friend, and soon enough, his office was lookin’ up to snuff in no time at all.

It’s as he’s sortin’ out his desk that movement out of the corner of his eye catches his attention, and he looked to see the other toon standin’ next to him, holding something out to him. 

“Sorry about this,” the other said, not meeting the wolf’s eye, “I saw it and . . . I just got mad. I guess that don’t excuse it, but . . .”

He trailed off, brow pinching as if frustrated he couldn't think of what to say, but held the object out for Boris to take. Which he did, seeing the broken frame that had been thrown against the wall. He’d probably have to get a new one, but at least the picture was okay.

Still, he looked back to the other, smiling just a little, “Thanks. It just needs a new frame, I think, so it not too serious. But, uh, why’d ya get mad?”

At that, the other flinched, grabbing one of his elbows and looking down, “. . . I don’t really wanna talk about it.”

Ah . . . he supposed that was fair. If his past was as bad as the others . . .

_ Grwwwwl. _

Boris’ ears straightened at the familiar sound, but the other toon jumped high, spinning around like a startled cat, “What was that?!”

It came again, and this time, Boris had to genuinely fight down a laugh. Still, the smile he was sportin’ must have been telling as he said, “Oh, I think yer stomach’s just tellin’ ya its lunch time!”

The other stared up at him, perplexed, “What?”

Boris tilted his head curiously to one side, “Yer hungry. Have ya . . . never been hungry before?”

The other’s brow furrowed together, looking like he was genuinely thinkin’ quite hard on this before he said, “I don’t know. I don’t think so?”

Huh . . . 

Well, if he was hungry now, who was Boris to deny him some food?

  
“Wait one sec,” he told the toon before trotting over to the closet on the opposite wall. He swung the doors open, revealing what was inside; a walk-in space done up with lights, a set of drawers, a small table, and his comfy hammock strung up in the corner. His little corner of home within a home. He made to grab two bottles of ink resting on the table, when he paused, thinking. Then, he walked on over to a large potted plant nestled into the corner of his room instead.

And, once there, wasted no time in diggin’ his paws into the dirt and scraping it aside, digging deeper and deeper until his fingers brushed against something hard and unyielding. With a victorious smile, Boris pulled out one of the sumi sticks he’d buried for safe-keepin’ before meticulously shoving all the dirt back into place. Once done, he then blew off some of the excess dirt, gave it a good ol’ fashioned elbow shine, and stepped back out with his prize in hand.

The other toon was leaning around the corner of the desk, watching curiously as the wolf came back up to him. He cocked a brow when the wolf snapped the stick in two, then extended one half out for him to take. Alice had done somethin’ like this with the rest of otherworldly group, and it had been met with delight and acceptance. So maybe . . . somethin’ like that could happen here.

After a moment’s hesitation, the toon took it from his grasp, gingerly spinning it around to look at it, “What is it?”

“It's called a sumi stick,” Boris said, deciding to sit down to be more level with the other, “Ya eat em, and they taste good!”

The toon sat down as well, tilting his head to one side, “Eat?”

“Yeah, like this!” with that, Boris took a big bite out of the stick, ink crunching between his teeth as sweet flavors filled his mouth. Mm.~

The other toon watched him, puzzled. But, gradually, he lifted the piece he held to his face, cautiously sniffing it before taking a bite of it too.

The reaction was immediate, the other’s tail shootin’ complete straight while his eyes grew big, struck with a cross of surprise, wonder, and delight.

“Mmmf, wha ish thaf?” the toon asked, pointing at his face imploringly.

“It's good, ain’t it?” Boris asked, a smile tweaking at his mouth, “Tastes just like candy!”

He took a big bite himself, enjoying the rush of sweet flavors that graced his tongue, swiping at his jowls with a satisfied hum.

His companion swallowed, gazing down at the rest of the stick with wonder, “Huh . . . never had candy before . . .”

Just like the others, then. Denied even the simplest pleasures. The thought made Boris very sad.

“You can have the rest of that half, too,” the wolf added.

“Really?”

Boris nodded, “Yeah. It's always better to share.”

“Huh. I guess that would be it. Still, um . . . thanks?” the toon mouthed the word out like a foreign object, clearly not a word he’s used to sayin’.  Still, it was the thought that counted, “You’re welcome!”

Boris took another bite, another pleasant rush of flavor. He felt surprisingly calm for the situation, at ease when perhaps he shouldn't be. Maybe its because the other looks so much like his friend, who he trusted implicitly. Maybe it's because after bein’ so scary, he was makin’ an effort to change, stilted as it was. Whatever the reason, he was relaxed. And as such, it's no surprise when his tail started to wag.

It took him several moments to open his eyes again, savoring the sweet as he was, but when he did, he was treated to an unexpectedly  _ adorable  _ sight. This new, strange, confusing version of Bendy had his head tilted to one side, one brow up as he peered intently at the wagging appendage behind Boris, seemingly not understandin’ why he was doin’ that but trying to learn anyway, and had decided the best way to do that was to mimic his every move, his tail mirroring Boris’ own in such an unexpected way that Boris actually  _ snorts. _

It's one that just kept goin’ too, he really can’t help it even if he felt a little bad. But then, all the other said was, “Ya know, I’m really not gettin’ what this is supposed to mean.”

That just made him chuckle harder, honest-to-goodness surprised at himself. To think, not even fifteen minutes ago, he’d been _ scared _ of this toon!

His laughter died away fairly soon, wiping an eye as he panted, “Oh, I’m sorry, that wasn’t meant to be mean or nothin’, I just didn’t expect it!”

But as he opened his eyes, his mirth faded to slight confusion at the other’s downturned expression, his eyes on the stick cradled in his hands. His gaze seemed thoughtful, a little sad, and minutes ticked by before he finally spoke, “Ya know, no one woulda blamed ya if ya just ran. Not even me.”

Boris frowned now, heart panging a little, “Well . . . maybe alotta people would. You didn’t get to start out like we did. You didn’t have everythin’ ya needed to be whole. But, if yer really tryin’ to be different, why shouldn’t I give ya a chance?”

Bendy stared at him. He stared for a long time, it seemed like. Then, he started to chuckle slightly, a little louder every second, even as his eyes welled with tears. Boris raised ah and in concern, while the other hastily wiped at his cheeks. But even despite that, the other was smilin’ in a way Boris hadn’t seen before. It's just like the one his pal gave the first time he’d ever genuinely smiled around him.

“Haha,” Bendy chuckled softly, shaking his head, “Really didn’t think anyone was gonna say that to me after all that I did.”

Boris smiled a little, “Well, guess I’m the first. And if ya give it a little time, I’m sure everyone else will give ya one too.”

Bendy scoffed at that, “Ha! We’ll see about that. But . . .” he abashedly looked down, tapping a thumb against the block of ink in his hands, “Its kinda nice to know someone did.”

Boris’ smile grew just a little bigger. And before he knew it, his tail began went right back to waggin’.

That was when his door suddenly opened again, someone walkin’ right in as a familiar voice spoke, “Boris, are you in here? Think you can spare a couple seconds-,”

Boris eyes snapped to the door, just in time to see Susie stop mid-step in the doorway, eyes on the secondary occupant in the room, going absolutely silent. Her smile hadn’t waned once, blinking once. Twice. Then she stepped backwards, pulled the door the rest of the way open and stepped to the side.

Giving the strange Henry he’d come to know perfect view of the room beyond, who’s curiously gray skin paled when he realized who he was looking at.

“Bendy?!”

“Henry!” Bendy shooting, shooting to his feet.

The man rushed inside quickly, gesturing for Susie to follow and shut the door as he stormed over to the small toon. It's so bizarre, seeing such a severe, stern expression on Henry’s face in place of patient kindness, but Boris had to think that bein’ trapped in such a terrible place for so long changed people. 

“Bendy, what are you  _ doing _ down here?! How’d you get out?!” the man demanded, looking frazzled and irate at the same time.

“Lookin’ for you! You were gone for a long time, what was I supposed to do!?” Bendy shot back.

“Bendy, I was gone for an  _ hour, _ at most!” Henry said, exacerbated.

“I don’t know what an hour is, but it's  _ long!”  _ the toon yelled.

“Oh my god . . .” the man sighed, pressing his hands to his face in frustration. 

There’s a stretch of silence, when Susie awkwardly sidled up between them, interjecting gently, “Look, um, I don’t mean to rush anything, but we should probably get you both back to the Quiet Room before anyone sees you.”

Henry sighed again, “Right. You’re right.”

He looked down at the small toon, frowning, “We’re going to talk about this.”

Then, to Boris’ surprise, the man looked at him, a mite more apologetic, “Sorry for this. I thought he’d stay put.”

Boris shook his head, “Oh, no, it was no trouble. It, uh, wasn’t too bad, actually! We had . . . fun.”

That wasn’t really a lie, was it?

Henry’s eyes widened a small fraction. Then, his stern face softened into a small smile, “Well, I’m glad”

Looking down at the other toon, Henry knocked his head to the doorway in a silent tell to follow, walking back to it himself. However, his face seemed less displeased than before.

Bendy took a step to follow, then paused to look at Boris, a small wince adorning his face, “I, uh . . . I guess you’ll tell the others about this, huh?”

Boris blinked at him. It was true, that that would be the responsible thing to do. Lying to people wasn't somethin’ he liked to do. But . . .

_ “If that thing does anything, so much as looks at anyone funny, then you gotta agree to give full disclosure to everyone. And come up with some kinda back up plan if it does go off the rails to stop it from doin’ anythin’, a spell or a circle or somethin’. Capiche?” _

Bendy would absolutely follow up on that promise, especially if he found out about this. Boris knew he would. And that . . . that might just be the wrong thing to do. How would this toon, new to the world and just knowing what it meant to be alive, even hope to change if everyone was too scared to give him a chance?

Boris didn’t want that. He’d seen a difference here today. Joey had been right. And he had  _ fixed _ it. And his dear best friend, for all his smarts and good instincts, could still be wrong sometimes.

“I mean . . . it's not like anythin’ serious happened right?” Boris said, shrugging.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Susie give a very pointed glance to the damaged corner of his desk.

“I guess?” Bendy said slowly, confused.

“So, I don’t need to talk about it!” the wolf said.

Slowly, Bendy’s eyes widened in understanding, and even more slowly after that, a smile spread across the toon’s face, “. . . thanks.”

Then he was trotting after Henry, the pair walking around the corner. He could just hear Henry’s departing comment, “We’re going to have to figure out how to get you back inside without Tom suspecting anything.”

“Oh . . . right.”

Next to him, Susie touched his shoulder, and he looked into her openly concerned eyes,  _ “Is _ everything alright, Boris?”

Boris held her gaze steadily, nodding, “Yeah. Everythin’s okay, Susie, I promise. He’s . . . not so bad now.”

“You believe that?” Susie inquired softly, not out of disbelief, but genuine curiosity. 

“I do. He’s never had a soul before, or anyone to help him out even without one,” Boris said, “He doesn't know how to deal with all his emotions yet, but I think he’s really tryin’ to understand how it all works. And I think that he’s sorry for what he did. He just doesn't know how to express it yet.”

Susie listened intently, absorbing everything patiently. Then, she closed her eyes, nodded, then reached up and gently scratched behind his ears with a fond look on her face, “You really are a good wolf, Boris. And a good friend.”

Boris smiled, enjoying the attention, which ended all too soon.

“I should go get them back safely. But, if you’d like to, Alice and Sammy might appreciate some extra company,” Susie told him.

Boris smiled, tail waggin’ just a bit, “They’re doin’ okay? Both of ‘em?”

“Better now,” Susie reassured him, “And I think some friendly faces will be good for them right now.”

The wolf nodded, “I’ll go do that! I would like to see ‘em an awful lot right now.”

Susie nodded understandingly, gesturing for the door, “Well, no time like the present, right?”

Boris nodded, but before he left, he walked over to a nearby chest and flicked it open, pulling out his favorite clarinet.

“Everyone might like a little music right now, don’t ya think?” was his explanation as he walked out of his office, closing the door behind him.

“I think so too,” Susie said, before turning and walking up to where the odd pair from another world waited.

As they turned to leave, the other Bendy turned back one last time, catching Boris’ eyes. He didn’t know what the other was thinking, but when he smiled giddily before rushing to catch up with the others, Boris thinks it was probably somethin’ good.

As Boris turned the opposite way, reflecting on what had just transpired, he can’t help the small flare of hope inside his heart.

The problem really looked to have been fixed, just like Joey promised. And if this Bendy truly changed in all the best ways and learned to be just like the rest of them, an individual all his own that could fix his mistakes, then maybe, just maybe . . .

Boris might have another good pal in the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But maybe you wonder too much, and your worries are but few

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome once again, darlings, oh welcome, welcome, welcome back.


End file.
